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EDITION. y 

BY EZRA MEEKER. 







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[Fourth Edition] 

THE OX TEAM 

OR THE 

Old Oregon Trail 

1852-1906 



An Account of the Author's Trip Across 
the Plains, from the Missouri River to 
Puget Sound, at the Age of Twenty-two, 
with an ox and cow team in 1852, and of 
His Return with an Ox Team in the Year 
1906, at the Age of Seventy-six, with 
Copious Excerpts From His Journal and 
Other Reliable Sources of Information; 
a Narrative of Events and Descriptive of 
Present and Past Conditions : : : 




By 

EZRA MEEKER 



Author of Pioneer Reminiscences of Puget Sound, 
The Tragedy of Leschi, Hop Culture in the 
United States, Washington Territory 
West of the Cascade Moun- 
tains, Familiar Talks — A 
Three Years 
Serial. 



Published by the Author 
New York 

Cloth 60 Cts. Postpaid 

Address Ezra Meeker, Room 1214, 35 Nassau Street, 

New York 



..M52.I 



Copyright, 1907, 'by 
EZRA MEEKER 

All Rights Reserved 

Published, October, 1906 
Reprinted, January, 1907 
Reprinted, June, 1907 
Reprinted, September, 1907 






^— ■ 



DEDICATION. 



To the Pioneers who fought the battle of peace, 
and wrested Oregon from British rule, this book 
is reverently dedicated. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Frontispiece. 

Dedicating Monument at Tenino, Washington 16 

Granite Monument at Baker City, Oregon 38 

On the Dock, Tacoma, Washington 48 

Twist and Dave 84 

Camp No. 1 88 

Team in Motion on the l ' Plains ' ' 90 

Dedicating Monument at The Dalles, Oregon 108 

Dedicating Monument at Pendleton, Oregon 110 

Old Timers at Baker City, Oregon 118 

Rocky Mountain Scenery 130 

The Old Oregon Trail 132 

Monument at South Pass 136 

Devil 's Gate 144 

Independence Rock 151 

At Scotts Bluff 166 

Mrs. Rebecca Winter's Grave 168 

Chimney Rock 172 

Breaking the Cows 180 

On the Bridge 194 

The Ox and Cow Team 210 

Arrival at Indianapolis, Ind., January 5, 1907 226 

Map of the Old Oregon Trail 250, 251 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

From Indiana to Iowa. 
Early Days In Indiana — The Brimstone Meeting-house — I'm 

Going to be a Farmer — Off for Iowa — An Iowa Winter. . 13 

CHAPTER II. 

Off for Oregon. 

The Start — First Day Out 22 

CHAPTER III. 
Crossing the Missouri 28 

CHAPTER IV. 
Out on the Plains. 
The Indians — The Cholera — Extent of Emigration — the Cas- 
ualties 32 

CHAPTER V. 

The High Court. 
Law of Self-Preservation — Capital Punishment 41 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Ox 

The Ox Passing — The Battle of Peace 45 

CHAPTER VII. 
The Ox Team Brigade and the Cow Column. 
Emigration of 1843 — Horace Greeley's Opinion— Cause that 

Saved Oregon from British Rule — Jesse Applegate's Epic. 49 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Life on the Plains. 
Opening the Road — Mode of Travel in 1852 — Abandoned 
Property — The Cholera — The Happy Family — Heroic Pio- 
neer Women — Hardships 60 

CHAPTER IX. 

River Crossings. 

Wagon-beds as Boats — Down Snake River in Wagon-boxes.... 74 

CHAPTER X. 

Ravages of the Cholera. 

The Great Panic 79 

CHAPTER XL 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition. 
The Team — Team of 1852 — The Wagon — Camp No. 1 — Turn- 
water, Washington — Tenino Monument — Central ia, Wash- 
ington — Chehalis, Washington, Claquato, Washington — 
Jacksons — Toledo, Washington — Portland, Oregon , 82 



(5) 



g CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XII. 
Floating Down the River 97 

CHAPTER XIII. 
The Ox Team Monume.nt Expedition Continued. 
The Dalles, Oregon — Out from the Dalles — Pendleton, Ore- 
gon — The Blue Mountains — Meacham, Oregon — La Grand, 
Oregon — Ladd's Canyon — Camp No. 34 — Baker City, Ore- 
gon — Old Mount Pleasant, Oregon — Durkee, Oregon — 
Huntington — Vale, Oregon ; 106 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition Continued. 

Old Fort Boise — Parnia, Idaho — Boise, Idaho — Twin Falls, 

Idaho — American Falls, Idaho — Pocatello, Idaho — -Soda 

Spriugs. Idaho — Montpelier, Idaho — The Mad Bull — The 

Wounded Buffalo — Cokeville, Wyoming 122 

CHAPTER XV. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition Continued. 
The Rocky Mountains — Pac'nc Springs — South Pass Monu- 
ment 131 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition Continued. 

Sweetwater — Split Rock 139 

CHAPTER XVII. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition Continued. 

The Devil's Gate 143 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
The Ox Team Monumhj t Expedition Continued. 
Independence Rock — Fish Creek — North Platte River — Casper, 
Wyoming — Glen Rock — Douglas, Wyoming— Puyallup— 

Tacoma — Seattle 148 

CHAPTER XIX. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition Continued. 
Fort Laramie, Wyoming— Scottsbluff — The Dead of the Plains 

— Chimney Rock — North Platte, Nebraska 163 

CHAPTER XX. 
Obituary Noticb. 

Death of Twist 176 

CHAPTER XXI. 
The Ox Team Mo umfnt Expedition Continued. 

Gothenburg, Nebraska — Lexington 179 

CHAPTER XXII. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition Concluded. 

Kearney, Nebraska — Grand Island, Nebraska 186 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
A Chapter for Children. 
The AT»f«|oT>es — Quarre] Between Jim and Dave — Jim's Ad- 

Tenture with a Wolf — About Puget Sound 191 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
Early Life on Puget Sound. 

Wild Animals — The Cougar — The Morning School 198 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Questions and Answers 217 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
Autobiography of the Author 227 



THE OX TEAM 

OR 

THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 
i 852- 1 906 



INTRODUCTION TO AN INTRODUCTION. 



I had not, until the last moment, intended to 
write an introduction, unless my readers ac- 
cepted the writing of early Indiana life as such. 
Introductions so often take the form of an apol- 
ogy that the dear public properly omits to read 
them, and so I will content myself with the re- 
mark that this reference to my first chapter shall 
answer for the introduction, for which I offer bo 
apology. 



I 



CHAPTEB I. 

From Indiana to Iowa. 

EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA. 

N THE early '50s, out four and a half and 
seven miles respectively from Indianapolis, 
Indiana, there lived two young people with their 
parents, who were old-time farmers of the old 
style, keeping no "hired man" nor buying many 
"store goods." The girl could spin and weave, 
make delicious butter, knit soft, good shapen 
socks, and cook as good a meal as any other coun- 
try girl around about, and withal as buxom a 
lass as had ever been "born and raised there (In- 
diana) all her life." 

These were times when sugar sold for eighteen 
cents per pound, calico fifteen cents per yard, salt 
three dollars a barrel, and all other goods at these 
comparatively high prices, while butter would 
bring but ten cents a pound, eggs five cents a 
dozen, and wheat but two bits (twenty-five cents) 
a bushel. And so, when these farmers went to 
the market town (Indianapolis) care was taken 
to carry along something to sell, either some eggs 



14 THE OX TEAM OR 

or butter or perhaps a half dozen pairs of socks 
or maybe a few yards of cloth, as well as some 
grain, or hay or a bit of pork, or possibly a load 
of wood, to make ends meet at the store. 

The young man was a little uncouth in appear- 
ance, round-faced, rather stout in build — almost 
fat, — a little boisterous, always restless, and 
without a very good address, yet with at least 
one redeeming trait of character: he loved his 
work and was known as industrious a lad as any 
in the neighborhood. 

THE BRIMSTONE MEETING-HOUSE. 

These young people would sometimes meet at 
the "Brimstone meeting-house," a Methodist 
church known by that name far and wide; so 
named by the unregenerate because of the open 
preaching of endless torment to follow non- 
church members and sinners to the grave — a lit- 
eral lake of fire, taught with vehemence and 
accompanied with boisterous scenes of shouting 
of those who were "saved." Amid these scenes 
and these surroundings these two young people 
grew up to the age of manhood and womanhood, 
knowing but little of the world outside of their 
home sphere, — and who knows but as happy as 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 15 

if they had seen the whole world? Had they not 
experienced the joys of the sugar camp while 
"stirring off" the lively creeping maple sugar? 
Both had been thumped upon the bare head by 
the falling hickory nuts in windy weather; had 
hunted the black walnuts half hidden in the 
leaves; had scraped the ground for the elusive 
beach nuts, had even ventured to apple parings 
together, though not yet out of their "teens." 
The lad hunted the 'possum and the coon in the 
White river bottom, now the suburb of the city 
of Indianapolis, and had cut even the stately wal- 
nut trees, now so valuable (extinct in fact) that 
the cunning coon might be driven from his hiding 
place. 

I'M GOING TO BE A FARMER. 

"I'm going to be a farmer when I get married," 
the young man quite abruptly said one day to 
the lass, without any previous conversation to 
lead up to such an assertion, to the confusion of 
his companion, who could not mistake the 
thoughts that prompted the words. A few months 
later the lass said, "Yes, I want to be a farmer, 
too, but I want to be a farmer on our own land," 
and two bargains were confirmed then and there 
when the lad said, "We will go west and not live 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 17 

on pap's farm." "Nor in the old cabin, nor any 
cabin unless it's our own," came the response, 
and so the resolution was made that they would 
go to Iowa, get some land, and grow up with the 
country. 

OFF FOR IOWA. 

About the first week of October, 1851, a cov- 
ered wagon drew up in front of Thomas Sumner's 
habitation, then but four miles out from Indian- 
apolis on the National road, ready to be loaded 
for the start. Eliza Jane, the second daughter 
of that noble man, the "lass" described, then the 
wife of the young man mentioned, the author, 
was ready, with cake and apple butter and pump- 
kin pies, jellies and the like, enough to last the 
whole trip and plenty besides. Not much of a 
load, to be sure, but it was all we had : plenty of 
blankets, a good old-fashioned feather bed, a good 
sized Dutch oven, and each an extra pair of shoes 
and cloth for two new dresses for the wife, and 
for an extra pair of pants for the husband. 

Tears could be restrained no longer as the 
loading progressed and the stern realization 
faced the parents of both that the young couple 
were about to leave them. 



18 THE OX TEAM OE 

"Why, mother, we are only going out to Iowa, 
you know, where we can get a home that shall be 
our own; it's not so very far — only about 500 
miles." 

"Yes, I know, but suppose you get sick in that 
uninhabited country — who will care for you?" 

Notwithstanding this motherly solicitude, the 
young people could not fail to know there was a 
secret - ^ng of approval in the good woman's 
breast, and when, after a few miles' travel, the 
reluctant final parting came, could not then know 
that this loved parent would lay down her life a 
few years later in an heroic attempt to follow the 
wanderers to Oregon, and that her bones would 
rest in an unknown and unmarked grave of the 
Platte valley. 

Of that October drive from the home near In- 
dianapolis to Eddyville, Iowa, in the delicious 
(shall I say delicious, for what other word ex- 
presses it?) atmosphere of an Indian summer, 
and in the atmosphere of hope and content ; hope 
born of aspirations — content with our lot, born 
of a confidence for the future, what shall I say? 
What matter if we had but a few dollars in 
money and but few belongings ; we had the wide 
world before us ; we had good health ; and before 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 19 

and above all we had each other and were su- 
premely happy, and rich in our anticipations. 

At that time but one railroad entered Indian- 
apolis — it would be called a tramway now,— from 
Madison on the Ohio river, and when we cut loose 
from that embryo city we left railroads behind 
us, except such as were found in the wagon track 
where the rails were laid crossways to keep the 
wagon out of the mud. What matter ; f & road 
was rough, we could go a little slower, and th^n 
would n't we have a better appetite for our sup- 
per because of the jolting, and would n't we sleep 
a little sounder for it? And so everything in all 
the world looked bright, and what little mishaps 
did befall us were looked upon with light hearts, 
that they might have been worse. 

The great Mississippi river was crossed at Bur- 
lington, or, rather, we embarked several miles 
down the river and were carried up to the landing 
at Burlington, and after a few days' further driv- 
ing landed in Eddyville, Iowa, destined to be 
only a place to winter, and a way station on our 
route to Oregon. 

AN IOWA WINTER. 

My first introduction to an Iowa winter was 
in a surveyor's camp on the western borders of 



20 THE OX TEAM OR 

the state, a little way north of Kanesville (now 
Council Bluffs), as cook of the party, which po- 
sition was speedily changed and that of flagman 
assigned me. 

If there are any settlers now left of the Iowa 
of that day (fifty-five years ago) they will re- 
member the winter was bitter cold — the coldest 
within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. On 
my trip back from the surveying party just men- 
tioned to Eddyville, just before Christmas, I en- 
countered one of those cold days long to be re- 
membered. A companion named Vance rested 
with me over night in a cabin, with scant food 
for ourselves or the mare we led. It was thirty- 
five miles to the next cabin; we must reach that 
place or lay out on the snow. So a very early 
start was made, before daybreak while the wind 
lay. The good lady of the cabin baked some 
biscuits for a noon lunch, but they were frozen 
solid in our pockets before we had been out two 
hours. The wind rose with the sun, and with 
the sun two bright sun-dogs, one on each side, 
and alongside of each, but slightly less bright, 
another, — a beautiful sight to behold, but arising 
from conditions intolerable to bear. Vance came 
near freezing to death, and would had I not 3uc- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 21 

ceeded in arousing him to anger and gotten him 
off the mare. 

I vowed then and there I did not like the Iowa 
climate, and the Oregon fever was visibly quick- 
ened. Besides, if I went to Oregon the govern- 
ment gave us 320 acres of land, while in Iowa we 
would have to purchase it, — at a low price, to be 
sure, but it must be bought and paid for on the 
spot. There were no preemption or beneficent 
homestead laws in force then, and not until many 
years later. The country w T as a wide open, roll- 
ing prairie, a beautiful country indeed, — but 
what about a market? No railroads, no wagon 
roads, no cities, no meeting-houses, no schools; 
the prospect looked drear. How easy it is for 
one when his mind is once bent against a country 
to conjure up all sorts of reasons to bolster his, 
perhaps, hasty conclusions ; and so Iowa was con- 
demned as unsuited to our life abiding place. 

But what about going to Oregon when spring- 
time came? An interesting event was pending 
that rendered a positive decision impossible for 
the moment, and not until the first week of April, 
1852, when our first-born baby boy was a month 
old, could we say that we were going to Oregon 
in 1852. 



22 THE OX TEAM OB 



CHAPTEE II. 

Off for Oregon. 

HAVE been asked hundreds of times how 
many wagons were in the train I traveled 



i 



with, and what train it was, and who was the 
captain, assuming that of course we must be with 
some train. 

THE START. 

When we drove out of Eddyville there was but 
one wagon in our train, two yoke of four-year-old 
steers, one yoke of cows, and one extra cow. 
This cow was the only animal we lost on the 
whole trip : strayed in the Missouri river bottom 
before crossing. 

And now as to the personnel of our little party. 
William Buck, who became my partner for the 
trip, was a man six years my senior, had had some 
experience on the Plains, and knew well as to an 
outfit needed, but had no knowledge as to a team 
of cattle. He was an impulsive man and to some 
extent excitable, yet withal a man of excellent 
judgment and as honest as God Almighty makes 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 23 

men. No lazy bone occupied a place in Buck's 
body. He was so scrupulously neat and cleanly 
that some might say he was fastidious, but such 
was not the case. His aptitude for the camp 
work and unfitness for handling the team, at 
once, as we might say by natural selection, di- 
vided the cares of the household, sending the 
married man to the range with the team and the 
bachelor to the camp. The little wife was in 
ideal health, and almost as "particular" as Buck 
(not quite though), while the young husband 
would be a little more on the slouchy order, if 
the reader will pardon the use of that word, 
though more expressive than elegant. 

Buck selected the outfit to go into the wagon, 
while I fitted up the wagon and bought the team. 

We had butter, packed in the center of the 
flour in double sacks; eggs packed in corn meal 
or flour, to last us nearly five hundred miles; 
fruit in abundance, and dried pumpkins ; a little 
jerked beef, not too salt, and last, a demijohn of 
brandy for "medicinal purposes only," as he said, 
with a merry twinkle of the eye that exposed the 
subterfuge which he knew I knew without any 
sign. The little wife had prepared the home- 
made yeast cake which she knew so well how to 



24 THE OX TEAM OR 

make and dry, and we had light bread all the 
way, baked in a tin reflector instead of the heavy 
Dutch ovens so much in use on the Plains. 

Albeit the butter to a considerable extent 
melted and mingled with the flour, yet we were 
not much disconcerted as the short-cake that fol- 
lowed made us almost glad the mishap had oc- 
curred. Besides, did we not have plenty of fresh 
butter churned every day in the can, by the jostle 
of the w^agon, from our own cows? Then the 
buttermilk. What a luxury, yes, that's the word, 
a real luxury. I will never, so long as I live, for- 
get that short-cake and corn bread, the puddings 
and pumpkin pies, and above all the buttermilk. 
The reader who may smile at this may well recall 
the fact that it is the small things that make up 
the happiness of life. 

But it was more than that. As we gradually 
crept out on the Plains and saw the sickness and 
suffering caused by improper food and in some 
cases from improper preparation, it gradually 
dawned on me how blessed I was, with such a 
partner as Buck and such a life partner as the 
little wife. Some trains, it soon transpired, were 
without fruit, and most of them depended upon 
saleratus for raising their bread. Many had only 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 25 

fat bacon for meat till the buffalo supplied a 
change, and no doubt but much of the sickness 
attributed to the cholera was caused by an ill- 
suited diet. 

I am willing to claim credit for the team, every 
hoof of which reached the Coast in safety. Four 
four-year-old steers and two cows were sufficient 
for our light wagon and light outfit, not a pound 
of which but was useful (except the brandy, of 
which more anon) and necessary for our com- 
fort. Not one of these had ever been under the 
yoke, though plenty of "broke" oxen could be had, 
but generally of that class that had been broken 
in spirit as well as in training, so, when we got 
across the river with the cattle strung out to the 
wagon with Buck on the off side to watch, while 
I, figuratively speaking, took the reins in hand, 
we may have presented a ludicrous sight, but did 
not have time to think whether we did or not, 
and cared but little so the team would go. 

FIRST DAY OUT. 

The first day's drive out from Eddyville was a 
short one, and so far as I now remember the only 
one on the whole trip where the cattle were al- 
lowed to stand in the yoke while the owners 



26 THE OX TEAM OB 

lunched and rested. I made it a rule, no matter 
how short the noon time, to unyoke and let the 
cattle rest or eat while we rested and ate, and on 
the present 1906 trip have rigidly adhered to 
that rule. 

An amusing scene was enacted when, at near 
nightfall, the first camp was made. Buck excit- 
edly insisted we must not unyoke the cattle. 
"Well, what shall we do?" I said; "they can't 
live in the yoke always; we will have to unyoke 
them sometimes." 

"Yes, but if you unyoke here you will never 
catch them again." One word brought on an- 
other, till the war of words had almost reached 
the stage of a dispute, when a stranger, Thomas 
McAuley, who was camped near by, with a twin- 
kle in his eye I often afterwards saw and will 
always remember, interfered and said his cattle 
were gentle and there were three men of his 
party and that they would help us yoke up in 
the morning. I gratefully accepted his proffered 
help, speedily unyoked, and ever after that never 
a word with the merest semblance of contention 
passed between Buck and myself. 

Scanning McAuley's outfit the next morning I 
was quite troubled to start out with him, his 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 27 

teams being light, principally cows, and thin in 
flesh, with wagons apparently light and as frail 
as the teams. But I soon found that his outfit, 
like ours, contained no extra weight; that he 
knew how to care for a team ; and was withal an 
obliging neighbor, as was fully demonstrated on 
many trying occasions, after having traveled in 
company for more than a thousand miles, and 
until his road to California parted from ours, at 
the big bend of Bear river. 

Of the trip through Iowa little remains to be 
said further than that the grass was thin and 
washy, the roads muddy and slippery, and 
weather execrable, although May had been ush- 
ered in long before we reached the Missouri 
river. 



28 THE OX TEAM OB 



CHAPTER III. 
Crossing the Missouri. 

WHAT on earth is that?" exclaimed Mar- 
garet McAuley as we approached the 
ferry landing a few miles below where Omaha 
now stands. 

"It looks for all the world like a great big 
white flatiron," answered Eliza, the sister, 
"doesn't it, Mrs. Meeker?" But, leaving the 
women folks to their similes, we drivers turned 
our attention more to the teams as we encoun- 
tered the roads "cut all to pieces" on account of 
the concentrated travel as we neared the landing 
and the solid phalanx of wagons that formed 
the flatiron of white ground. 

We here encountered a sight indeed long to 
be remembered. The "flatiron of white" that 
Eliza had seen proved to be wagons with their 
tongues pointing to the landing- — a center train 
with other parallel trains extending back in the 
rear and gradually covering a wider space the 
farther back from the river one would go. Sev- 
eral hundred wagons were thus closely inter- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 29 

locked, completely blocking the approach to the 
landing by new arrivals, whether in companies 
or single. All ronnd abont were camps of all 
kinds, from those without covering of any kind 
to others with comfortable tents, nearly all seem- 
ingly intent on merrymaking, while here and 
there were small groups engaged in devotional 
services. We soon ascertained these camps con- 
tained the outfits in great part of the wagons in 
line in the great white flatiron, some of whom 
had been there for two weeks with no apparent 
probability of securing an early crossing. At 
the turbulent river front the turbid waters had 
already swallowed up three victims, one of whom 
I saw go under the drift of a small island as I 
stood near his shrieking wife the first day we 
were there. Two scows were engaged in cross- 
ing the wagons and teams. In this case the stock 
had rushed to one side of the boat, submerged 
the gunwale, and precipitated the whole contents 
into the dangerous river. One yoke of oxen, hav- 
ing reached the farther shore, deliberately en- 
tered the river with a heavy yoke on and swam 
to the Iowa side, and were finally saved by the 
helping hands of the assembled emigrants. 

"What should we do?" was passed around, 
without answer. Tom McAuley was not yet 



30 THE OX TEAM OR 

looked upon as a leader, as was the case later. 
The sister Margaret, a most determined maiden 
lady, the oldest of the party and as resolute and 
brave as the bravest, said to build a boat. But of 
what should we build it? While this question 
was under consideration and a search for mate- 
rial made, one of our party, who had gotten 
across the river in search of timber for oars, dis- 
covered a scow almost completely buried, on the 
sand spit opposite the landing, "only just a small 
bit of the railing and a corner of the boat vis- 
ible." The report seemed to be too good to be 
true. The next thing to do was to find the owner, 
which in a search of a day we did, eleven miles 
down the river. "Yes, if you will stipulate to de- 
liver the boat safely to me after crossing your five 
wagons and teams, you can have it," said the 
owner, and a bargain was closed right then and 
there. My ! but did n't we make the sand fly that 
night from that boat? By morning we could be- 
gin to see the end. Then busy hands began to 
cut a landing on the perpendicular sandy bank 
on the Iowa side ; others were preparing sweeps, 
and all was bustle and stir and I might say 
excitement. 

•By this time it had become noised around that 
another boat would be put on to ferry people 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 31 

over, and we were besieged with applications 
from detained emigrants. Finally, the word 
coming to the ears of the ferrymen, they were 
foolish enough to undertake to prevent us from 
crossing ourselves. A writ of replevin or some 
other process was issued, I never knew exactly 
what, directing the sheriff to take possession of 
the boat when landed and which he attempted 
to do. I never before nor since attempted to 
resist an officer of the law, nor joined to accom- 
plish anything by force outside the pale of the 
law, but when that sheriff put in an appearance 
and we realized what it meant, there wasn't a 
man in our party that did not run for his gun to 
the nearby camp, and it would seem needless to 
add we did not need to use them. As if by magic 
a hundred guns were in sight. The sheriff with- 
drew, and the crossing went peaceably on till all 
our wagons were safely landed. But we had an- 
other danger to face: we came to know there 
would be an attempt to take the boat from us, 
not as against us, but against the owner, and but 
for the adroit management of McAuley and my 
brother Oliver, who had joined us, we would have 
been unable to fulfil our engagements with the 
owner. 



32 THE OX TEAM OE 



A 



CHAPTER IV. 

Out on the Plains. 

THE INDIANS. 

S SOON as a part of our outfits were landed 
on the right bank of the river our trouble 
with the Indians began, not as in open hostilities, 
but in robbery under the guise of beggary. The 
word had been passed around in our little party 
that not one cent's worth of provisions would we 
give up to the Indians, believing this policy was 
our only safeguard from spoliation, and in that 
we were right. The women folks had been sent 
over the river with the first wagon, and sent off 
a little way to a convenient camp, so that the 
first show of arms came from that side of our 
little community, when some of the bolder Paw- 
nees attempted to pilfer around the wagons. But 
no blood was shed, and I may say in passing there 
was none shed by any of our party during the 
whole trip, though there did come a show of 
arms in several instances. 

One case in particular I remember. Soon after 
we had left the Missouri river we came to a small 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 33 

bridge over a washout across the road, evidently 
constructed but very recently by some train just 
ahead of us. The Indians had taken possession 
and demanded pay for crossing. Some ahead of 
us had paid, while others were hesitating, but 
with a few there was a determined resolution not 
to pay. When our party came up it remained 
for that fearless man, McAuley, in quite short 
order to clear the way though the Indians were 
there in considerable numbers. McAuley said, 
"You fellers come right on, for I 'm going across 
that bridge if I have to run right over that Ingen 
settin' there." And he did almost run over the 
Indian, who at the last moment got out of the 
way of his team, which was followed in such 
quick succession and with such show of arms the 
Indians withdrew and left the road unobstructed. 
We did not, however, have much trouble with 
the Indians in 1852. The facts are the great 
numbers of the emigrants, coupled with the su- 
periority of their arms, placed them on compara- 
tively safe grounds. And it must be remembered, 
also, that this was before the treaty-making pe- 
riod, which has so often been followed by blood* 
shed and war. 



34 THE OX TEAM OR 

But to return to the river bank. We crossed 
on the 17th and 18th of May and drove out a 
short way on the 19th, but not far enough to be 
out of hearing of a shrill steamboat whistle that 
resounded over the prairie, announcing the ar- 
rival of a steamer. I never knew the size of that 
steamer, or the name, but only know that a dozen 
wagons or more could be crossed at one time, 
and that a dozen or more trips could be made 
during the day, and as many at night, and that 
we were overtaken by this throng of a thousand 
wagons thrown upon the road, that gave us some 
trouble and much discomfort. 

THE CHOLERA. 

And now that we were fairly on the way the 
whole atmosphere, so to speak, seemed changed. 
Instead of the discordant violin and more dis- 
cordant voices, with the fantastic night open-air 
dances, with mother earth as a floor, there soon 
prevailed a more sober mien, even among the 
young people, as they began to encounter the 
fatigue of a day's drive and the cares of a night 
watch. With so many, the watchword was to 
push ahead and make as big a day's drive as pos- 
sible, it is not to be wondered at that nearly 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 35 

the whole of the thousand wagons that crossed 
the river after we did soon passed us. 

"Now, fellers, jist let 'em rush on, and keep 
cool, we '11 overcatch them afore long," said Mc- 
Auley. And w^e did, and passed many a broken- 
down team, the result of that first few days of 
rush. It was this class that unloaded such piles 
of provisions, noted elsewhere, in the first two- 
hundred-mile stretch, and that fell such easy 
prey to the ravages of the epidemic of cholera 
that struck the moving column where the throng 
from the south side of the Platte began crossing. 
As I recollect this, it must have been near where 
the city of Kearney now stands, which is about 
two hundred miles west of the Missouri river. 
We had been in the buffalo country several days, 
and some of our young men had had the keen 
edge of the hunting zeal worn off by a day's ride 
in the heat, a number of whom were sick from 
the effects of overheating and indiscreet drink- 
ing of impure water. Such an experience came 
vividly home to me in the case of my brother 
Oliver, who had outfitted with our Hoosier 
friends near Indianapolis, but had crossed the 
Missouri river in company with us. Being of an 
adventurous spirit, he could not restrain his ar- 



36 THE OX TEAM Off 

dor, and gave chase to the buffaloes, and fell sick 
almost unto death. This occurred just at the 
time when we had encountered the cholera panic, 
and of course it must be the cholera that had 
seized him with such an iron grip, argued some 
of his companions. His old-time comrades and 
neighbors, all but two, said they could not delay. 
I said, "It 's certain death to take him along in 
that condition," which they admitted was true. 
"Divide the outfit, then!" The Davenport 
brothers said they would not leave my brother, 
and so their portion of the outfit was put out 
also, which gave the three a wagon and team. 
Turning to Buck, I said, "I can't ask you to stay 
with me." The answer came back quick as a 
flash, "I am going to stay with you without ask- 
ing," and he did, too, though my brother was al- 
most a total stranger. We nursed the sick man 
for four days amidst scenes of excitement and 
death I hope never to witness again, with the re- 
sult that on the fifth day we were able to go on 
and take the convalescent with us and thus saved 
his life. It was at this point the sixteen hundred 
wagons passed us as noted elsewhere in the four- 
days detention, and loose stock so numerous we 
made no attempt to count or estimate them. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 3? 

Of course this incident is of no special impor- 
tance, except to illustrate what life meant in 
those strenuous days. The experience of that 
camp was the experience, I may say, of hundreds 
of others, of friends parting, of desertion, of no- 
ble sacrifice, of where the best and worst of the 
inner man was shown. Like the dissolving clouds 
of a brightening summer day, the trains seemed 
to dissolve and disappear, while no one seemed 
to know what had become of their component 
parts, or whither they had gone. 

There did seem instances that would convert 
the most skeptical to the Presbyterian doctrine 
of total depravity, so brutal and selfish were the 
actions of some men; brutal to men and women 
alike; to dumb brutes, and in fact to themselves. 
And yet alongside of this, it is a pleasure to 
record that there were numerous instances of 
noble self-sacrifice, of helpfulness, of unselfish- 
ness, to the point of imperiling their own lives. 
It became a common saying that to know one's 
neighbors, they must be seen on the Plains. 

EXTENT OF EMIGRATION. 

The army of loose stock that accompanied this 
huge caravan, a column, we may almost say, of 




GRANITE MONUMENT AT BAKER CITY, OREGON 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 39 

five hundred miles long without break, added 
greatly to the discomfort of all. Of course it will 
never be known the number of such or for that 
matter of the emigrants themselves, but their 
numbers were legion compared to those that la- 
bored under the yoke. A conservative estimate 
would be not less than six animals to the wagon, 
and surely there were three loose animals to 
where there was one laboring. By this it would 
appear that, while there were sixteen hundred 
wagons passed while we tarried four days, there 
were nearly ten thousand beasts of burden passed 
under review, and near thirty thousand loose 
stock. As to the number of persons, certainly 
there were five to the wagon, maybe more, but 
calling it five, eight thousand people, men, 
women, and children, passed on, many to their 
graves not afar off. 

We know by the inscribed dates found on In- 
dependence Eock and elsewhere that there were 
wagons full three hundred miles ahead of us, and 
that the throng had continued to pass the river 
more than a month after we had crossed, so that 
it does not require a stretch of the imagination 
to say the column was five hundred miles long, 
and, like Sherman's march through Georgia, fifty 
thousand strong. 



40 THE OX TEAM OR 

THE CASUALTIES. 

Of the casualties in that mighty army I 
scarcely dare guess. It is certain that history 
does not give a record of so great a number mi- 
grating so long a distance as that of the Pioneers 
of the Plains, where, as we have seen, the dead 
lay in rows of fifties and groups of seventies. 
Shall we say ten per cent fell by the wayside? 
Many will exclaim that estimate is too low. Ten 
per cent would give us five thousand sacrifices 
of lives laid down even in one year to the 
peopling of the Pacific Coast states. The roll 
call was never made, and we know not how many 
there were. The list of mortalities is unknown, 
and so we are lost in conjecture, and now w r e 
know only that the unknown and unmarked 
graves have gone into oblivion. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 41 



CHAPTER V. 

The High Court. 

LAW OF SELF-PRESERVATION. 

WHEN we stepped foot upon the right bank 
of the Missouri river we were outside the 
pale of civil law. We were within the Indian 
country where no organized civil government ex- 
isted. Some people and some writers have as- 
sumed that each man was a "law unto himself" 
and free to do his own will, dependent, of course, 
upon his physical ability to enforce it. 

Nothing could be further from the facts than 
this assumption, as evil doers soon found out to 
their discomfiture. No general organization for 
law and order was effected, but the American in- 
stinct for fair play and for a hearing prevailed, 
so that while there was not mob law, the law of 
self-preservation asserted itself, and the man- 
dates of the level-headed old men prevailed, "a 
high court from which there is no appeal," but 
"a high court in the most exalted sense; a senate 
composed of the ablest and most respected fath- 
ers of the emigration, exercising both legislative 



42 THE OX TEAM OB 

and judicial power; and its laws and decisions 
proved equal and worthy of the high trust reposed 
in it." So tersely described by Applegate as to 
conditions when the first great train moved out 
on the Plains in 1843, that I quote his w T ords as 
describing conditions in 1852. There was this 
difference, however, in the emigration of 1843 — 
all, by an agreement, belonged to one or the other 
of the two companies, the "cow column" or the 
"light brigade," while with the emigrants of 1852 
it is safe to say that more than half did not be- 
long to large companies, or one might say any 
organized company at all. But this made no 
difference, for when an occasion called for action 
a "high court" was convened, and woe betide the 
man that would undertake to defy its mandates 
after its deliberations were made public. 

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 

One incident, well up on the Sweetwater, will 
illustrate the spirit and determination of the 
sturdy old men (elderly I should say, as no 
young men were allowed to sit in these councils) 
of the Plains, while laboring under stress of 
grave personal cares and with many personal be- 
reavements. A murder had been committed, and 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 43 

it was clear the motive was robbery. The sus- 
pect had a large family, and was traveling along 
with the moving column. Men had volunteered 
to search for the missing man and finally found 
the proof pointing to the guilty man. A council 
of twelve men was called and deliberated until 
the second day, meanwhile holding the murderer 
safely within their grip. What were they to do? 
Here was a wife and four little children depend- 
ent upon this man for their lives; what would 
become of this man's family if justice was meted 
out to him? Soon there came an undercurrent 
of what might be termed public opinion — that it 
was probably better to forego punishment than 
to endanger the lives of the family ; but the coun- 
cil would not be swerved from their resolution, 
and at sundown of the third day the criminal 
was hung in the presence of the whole camp, in- 
cluding the family, but not until ample provi- 
sions had been made to insure the safety of the 
family by providing a driver to finish the jour- 
ney. I came so near seeing this that I did see 
the ends of the wagon tongues in the air and the 
rope dangling in the air, but I have forgotten 
the names of the parties, and even if I had not, 
would be loath to make them public. 



THE OX TEAM OR 

From necessity, murder was punishable with 
death; but stealing, by a tacit understanding, 
with whipping, which, when inflicted by one of 
those long ox lashes in the hands of an expert, 
was a terrible castigation, as the sting of the lash 
would bring the blood from the victim's back at 
every stroke. Minor offenses or differences gen- 
erally took the form of an arbitration, the deci- 
sion of which each party would abide as if ema- 
nating from a court of law. 

Lawlessness was not common on the Plains, 
no more so than in the communities from which 
the great body of the emigrants had been drawn, 
and in fact we may safely say not so much, as 
punishment was swift and certain, and that fact 
had its deterent effect. But the great body of 
the emigrants were a law-abiding set from law- 
abiding communities. 






THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 45 



CHAPTER VI. 

The Ox. 

THE OX PASSING. 

THE ox is passing ; in fact we may almost say 
has passed. Like the old-time spinning- 
wheel and the hand loom, that are only to be 
seen as mementos of the past; or the quaint old 
cobblers bench with its hand -made lasts and 
shoe pegs; or the heavy iron bubbling mush pot 
on the crane in the chimney corner ; like the fast 
vanishing of the old-time men and women of 
fifty years or more ago — all are passing, to be 
laid aside for the new ways and the new actors 
on the scenes of life. While these ways and these 
scenes and these actors have had their day, yet 
their experiences and the lessons taught are not 
lost to the world although at times almost 
forgotten. 

The difference between a civilized and an un- 
tutored people lies in the application of these 
experiences; while the one builds upon the foun- 
dations of the past, which engenders hope and 
ambition for the future, the other has no past 



46 THE OX TEAM OR 

nor aspirations for the future. As reverence for 
the past dies out in the breasts of a generation, 
so likewise patriotism wanes. In the measure 
that the love of the history of the past dies, so 
likewise do the higher aspirations for the future. 
To keep the flame of patriotism alive we have 
only to keep the memory of the past vividly in 
mind. 

THE BATTLE OF PEACE. 

Bearing these thoughis in mind, this expedi- 
tion to perpetuate the memory of the old Oregon 
Trail was undertaken. And there was this fur- 
ther thought, that here was this class of heroic 
men and women who fought a veritable battle, — 
a battle of peace to be sure, yet as brave a battle 
as any by those that faced the cannon's mouth; 
a battle that was fraught with as momentous 
results as any of the great battles of grim war; 
a battle that wrested half a continent from the 
native race and from a mighty nation contend- 
ing for mastery in the unknown regions of the 
West, whose fame was scantily acknowledged and 
whose name was already almost forgotten, and 
whose track, the battle-ground of peace, was on 
the verge of impending oblivion. Shall this be- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 47 

come an accomplished fact? The answer to this 
is this expedition, to perpetuate the memory of 
the old Oregon Trail, and to honor the intrepid 
pioneers who made it and saved this great region, 
the old Oregon country, for American rule. 

The ox team did it. Had it not been for the 
patient ox with the wagon train, the preponder- 
ance of an American settlement in the old Oregon 
country over that of the British could not have 
so certainly prevailed; and in fact uncertainty 
hovered over the land with results hanging in 
the balance until that first wagon train reached 
the region of contending forces. 



THE OLD OEEGON TRALU 49 



CHAPTEE VII. 

The Ox Team Brigade and the Cow 
Column. 

EMIGRATION OF 1843 

SIXTY-THBEE years ago (1843) a company 
numbering nearly one thousand strong, of 
men, women, and children, with over five thou- 
sand cattle, guided by such intrepid men as Peter 
Burnett (afterwards first governor of Califor- 
nia), Jesse Applegate, always a first citizen in 
the community where he had cast his lot, and 
James W. Nesbitt, afterwards one of the first 
senators from the state of Oregon, made their 
way with ox and cow teams toilsomely up the 
Platte valley, up the Sweetwater, through the 
South Pass of the Kockv mountains, and across 
rivers to Fort Hall on the upper waters of Snake 
river. This far there had been a few traders' 
wagons and the track had been partially broken 
for this thousand mile stretch. Not so for the 
remainder of their journey of near eight hundred 
miles. Not a wheel had been turned west of this 
post (then the abiding place for the "watch- 



50 THE OX TEAM OE 

dogs" of the British, the Hudson Bay Company, 
who cast a covetous eye upon the great Oregon 
country), except the Whitman cart, packed a 
part of the way, but finally stalled at Port Boise, 
a few hundred miles to the west. 

This great company, encouraged and guided 
by Whitman, 1 took their lives in their hands when 
they cut loose from Fort Hall and headed their 
teams westward over an almost unexplored re- 
gion with only Indians' or traders' horseback 
trails before them and hundreds of miles of 
mountainous country to traverse. 

HORACE GREELEY'S OPINION. 

"For what," wrote Horace Greeley in his 
paper, the New York Tribune, July 22, 1843, "do 
they brave the desert, the wilderness, the savage, 
the snowy precipices of the Rocky mountains, 



x Mrs. N. M. Bogart of Renton, Washington, yet living, 
who crossed the Plains in 1843, with the cow column of 
the emigration of that year, recently told the author of a 
beautiful incident illustrating the character of the intrepid 
missionary, Marcus Whitman, on that memorable trip. 
"When we came to the crossing of Platte river, some one 
had to go ahead of the teams to avoid deep holes," she 
related. "I distinctly remember seeing Whitman take the 
front yoke of cattle to the front wagon and wade along- 
side of them. He was stripped of all clothing except his 
underwear and prepared to swim, if need be, but we all 
crossed in safety under his guiding hand. He was a great, 

emnd man." 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 51 

the weary summer march, the storm-drenched 
bivouac and the gnawings of famine? This emi- 
gration of more than a thousand persons in one 
body to Oregon wears an aspect of insanity." 

The answer came back in due time, "for what" 
they braved the dangers of a trip across the 
Plains to an almost unknown land, in petitions 
praying for help to hold the country they had, 
as we might say, seized ; for recognition as Amer- 
ican citizens to be taken under the fostering care 
of the home government that their effort might 
not fail. And yet five long years passed and no 
relief came. An army had been assembled, an 
Indian war fought, when, at the dying moment 
of Congress, under the stress of public opinion, 
aroused by the atrocious massacre of Whitman, 
party passion on the slavery question was smoth- 
ered, the long-looked for relief came, and the 
Oregon bill was passed. They had "held the 
Fort" till victory perched upon their banner, and 
the foundation was laid for three great free states 
to enter the Union. 

No more heroic deed is of record than this, to 
span the remainder of a continent by the wagon 
track. Failure meant intense suffering to all 
and death to many. There was no retreat. They 



52 THE OX TEAM OB 

had, in a figurative sense, "burned their bridges 
behind them." Go on they must, or perish. 

CAUSE THAT SAVED OREGON FROM BRITISH 

RULE. 

When this train safely arrived, the preponder- 
ance of the American settlers was so great that 
there was no more question as to who should 
temporarily possess the Oregon country. An 
American provisional government was immedi- 
ately organized, the British rule was challenged, 
and Oregon was "saved," and, gave three great 
states to the Union, 1 and a large part of two 
more. 

Other ox team brigades came. Fourteen hun- 
dred people in 1844 followed the track made in 
1843, and three thousand in 1845, and on August 
15 of that year the Hudson Bay Company ac- 
cepted the protection of the provisional govern- 
ment and paid taxes to its officers. 

Shall we let the memory of such men and 
women smolder in our minds and sink into ob- 
livion? Shall we refuse to recognize their great 
courageous acts and fail to do honor to their 



1 The first attempt to form an American provi- 
sional government only prevailed by one majority and 
finally fell because of the lack of American preponderance. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 53 

memory? We erect monuments to commemorate 
the achievements of grim war and to mark the 
bloody battlefields ; then why shall we not honor 
those who went out to the battle of the Plains? 
— a battle of peace, to be sure, yet a battle that 
called for as heroic deeds and for as great sacri- 
fice as any of war and fraught with as momentous 
results as the most sanguinary battles of history. 
The people that held Oregon with such firm grip 
till the sacrifice came that ended all contention 
deserve a tender place in the hearts of the citizens 
of this great commonwealth. 

A glimpse into the life of the struggling mass 
of the first wagon train is both interesting and 
useful, interesting in the study of social life of 
the past, and useful from an historical point of 
view. 

JESSE APPLEGATE'S EPIC. 

Jesse Applegate, leader of the "cow column," 
after the division into two companies, many 
years afterwards wrote of the trip, and his ac- 
count has been published and republished and 
may be found in full in the Oregon Historical 
Quarterly. His writing is accepted as classic, 
and his facts, from first hands, as true to the 
letter. 



54 THE OX TEAM OR 

Portraying the scenes with the "cow column" 
for one day he wrote : 

"It is 4:00 o'clock a.m.; the sentinels on duty 
have discharged their rifles — the signal that the 
hours of sleep are over — and every wagon and 
tent is pouring forth its night tenants, and slow 
kindling smokes begin lazily to rise and float 
away in the morning air. Sixty men start from 
the corral, spreading as they make through the 
vast herd of cattle and horses that make a semi- 
circle around the encampment, the most distant 
perhaps two miles away. 

"The herders pass the extreme verge and care- 
fully examine for trails beyond to see that none 
of the animals have strayed or been stolen dur- 
ing the night. This morning no trails lead be- 
yond the outside animals in sight, and by five 
o'clock the herders begin to contract the great 
moving circle, and the well-trained animals move 
slowly towards camp, clipping here and there a 
thistle or a tempting bunch of grass on the way. 
In about an hour five thousand animals are close 
up to the encampment, and the teamsters are 
busy selecting their teams and driving them in- 
side the corral to be yoked. The corral is a circle 
one hundred yards deep formed with wagons con- 



SHE OLD OREGON TRAIL 55 

nected strongly with each other; the wagon in 
the rear being connected with the wagon in front 
by its tongue and ox chains. It is a strong bar- 
rier that the most vicious ox can not break, and 
in case of attack from the Sioux would be no 
contemptible intrenchment. 

u From 6:00 to 7:00 o'clock is the busy time; 
breakfast is to be eaten, the tents struck, the 
wagons loaded and the teams yoked and brought 
up in readiness to be attached to their respective 
wagons. All know when, at 7:00 o'clock, the 
signal to march sounds, that those not ready to 
take their places in the line of march must fall 
into the dusty rear for the day. There are sixty 
wagons. They have been divided into fifteen di- 
visions or platoons of four wagons each, and 
each platoon is entitled to lead in its turn. The 
leading platoon today will be the rear one to- 
morrow, and will bring up the rear, unless some 
teamster, through indolence or negligence, has 
lost his place in the line, and is condemned to 
that uncomfortable post. It is within ten min- 
utes of 7:00; the corral, but now a strong bar- 
ricade, is everywhere broken, the teams being 
attached to the wagons. The women and chil- 
dren have taken their places in them. The pilot 



56 THE OX TEAM OE 

(a borderer who has passed his life on the verge 
of civilization, and has been chosen to his post 
of leader from his knowledge of the savage and 
his experience in travel through roadless wastes) 
stands ready, in the midst of his pioneers and 
aids, to mount and lead the way. Ten or fifteen 
young men, not today on duty, form another 
cluster. They are ready to start on a buffalo 
hunt, are well mounted and well armed, as they 
need to be, for the unfriendly Sioux has driven 
the buffalo out of the Platte, and the hunters 
must ride fifteen or twenty miles to find them. 
The cow drivers are hastening, as they get ready, 
to the rear of their charge, to collect and prepare 
them for the day's march. 

"It is on the stroke of 7:00; the rush to and 
fro, the cracking of whips, the loud command 
to oxen, and what seemed to be the inextricable 
confusion of the last ten minutes has ceased. 
Fortunately every one has been found and every 
teamster is at his post. The clear notes of a 
trumpet sound in the front; the pilot and his 
guards mount their horses ; the leading divisions 
of the wagons move out of the encampment, and 
take up "the line of march ; the rest fall into their 
places with the precision of clock-work, until the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 67 

spot so lately full of life sinks back into that 
solitude that seems to reign over the broad plain 
and rushing river as the caravan draws its lazy 
length towards the distant El Dorado. 

"The pilot, by measuring the ground and tim- 
ing the speed of the horses, has determined the 
rate of each, so as to enable him to select the 
nooning place as nearly as the requisite grass 
and water can be had at the end of five hours' 
travel of the wagons. Today, the ground being 
favorable, little time has been lost in preparing 
the road, so that he and his pioneers are at the 
nooning place an hour in advance of the wagons, 
which time is spent in preparing convenient 
watering places for the animals, and digging lit- 
tle wells near the bank of the Platte. As the 
teams are not unyoked, but simply turned loose 
from the wagons, a corral is not formed at noon, 
but the wagons are drawn up in columns, four 
abreast, the leading wagon of each platoon on 
the left, the platoons being formed with that in 
view. This brings friends together at noon as 
well as at night. 

"Today an extra session of the council is being 
held, to settle a dispute that does not admit of 
delay, between a proprietor and a young man 



58 THE OX TEAM OB 

who has undertaken to do a man's service on the 
journey for bed and board. Many such cases 
exist, and much interest is taken in the manner 
in which this high court, from which there is no 
appeal, will define the rights of each party in 
such engagements. The council was a high court 
in the most exalted sense. It was a senate com- 
posed of the ablest and most respected fathers 
of the emigration. It exercised both legislative 
and judicial powers, and its laws and decisions 
proved equal, and worthy of the high trust re- 
posed in it. . . . 

"It is now one o'clock; the bugle has sounded 
and the caravan has resumed its westward jour- 
ney. It is in the same order, but the evening is 
far less animated than the morning march. A 
drowsiness has fallen apparently on man and 
beast; teamsters drop asleep on their perches, 
and the words of command are now addressed to 
the slowly creeping oxen in the soft tenor of 
women or the piping treble of children, while the 
snores of the teamsters make a droning accom- 
paniment. . . . 

"The sun is now getting low in the west, and 
at length the painstaking pilot is standing ready 
to conduct the train in the circle which he has 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 59 

previously measured and marked out, which is to form 
the invariable fortification for the night. The leading 
wagons follow him so nearly around the circle that but 
a wagon length separates them. Each* wagon follows 
in its track, the rear closing on the front, until its 
tongue and ox chains will perfectly reach from one to 
the other; and so accurate [is] the measure and perfect 
the practice that the hindmost wagon of the train 
always precisely closes the gateway. As each wagon 
is brought into position it is dropped from the team 
(the teams being inside the circle), the team is un- 
yoked, and the yoke and chains are used to connect the 
wagon strongly with that in its front. Within ten 
minutes from the time the leading wagon halted, the 
barricade is formed, the teams unyoked and driven 
out to pasture. Everyone is busy preparing fires 
. . . to cook the evening meal, pitching tents and 

otherwise preparing for the night 

The watches begin at 8:00 o'clock P. M. and end at 
1:00 a. m." 



60 THE OX TEAM OR 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Life on the Plains. 
OPENING THE ROAD 

THE reader will note, "To-day, the ground 
being favorable, little time has been lost 
in preparing the road," showing the arduous task 
before them in road making. The search for the 
best route to avoid steep pitches or rocky points 
or high sage brush required constant vigilance 
on the part of the "pioneers" whose duty, with 
the pilot, was to spy out and prepare the way 
for the caravan to follow. At the noon hour, I 
note, "As the teams are not unyoked, but simply 
turned loose from the wagon, a corral is not 
formed," a cruel practice I frequently saw in 
1852. It is with pride I can write that neither 
Buck and Dandy in 1852, nor Twist and Dave in 
1906, ever stood with the yoke on while I 
lunched, and that the former were in better con- 
dition when the trip was ended than when they 
started, even though they were at the start un- 
broken steers. Twist and Dave have come 
through the ordeal in as good condition as at the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 61 

start, until Twist was poisoned and died, al- 
though they alone have brought the one wagon 
(weighing 1,400 pounds) and its load all the 
way, a distance of nearly 1,700 miles. 

A word as to the rules of the expedition just 
completed. Long before the summer solstice, the 
alarm clock was set at 4:00, breakfast over by 
5 :00, and the start usually made by 6 :00 o'clock. 
We always took a long nooning hour, and if 
warm, several hours, and then traveled late, mak- 
ing from fifteen to twenty-five miles a day, aver- 
aging seventeen and a half miles for traveling 
days. Slow, you will say. Yes ; slow but sure. 

MODE OF TRAVEL IN 1852. 

And now as to our mode of travel in 1852. I 
did not enter an organized company, neither 
could I travel alone. Four wagons, with nine 
men, by a ^tacit agreement, traveled together for 
a thousand miles, and separated only when our 
roads parted, the one to California and the other 
to Oregon. And yet we were all the while in one 
great train, never out of the sight or hearing of 
others. In fact, at times the road would be so 
full of wagons that all could not travel in one 
track, and this fact accounts for the double road- 



62 THE OX TEAM OB 

beds seen in so many places on the trail. One of 
the party always went ahead to look out for 
water, grass, and fuel, three requisites for a camp- 
ing place. The grass along the beaten track was 
always eaten off close by the loose stock, of which 
there were great numbers, and so we had fre- 
quently to take the cattle long distances. Then 
came the most trying part of the whole trip — the 
all-night watch, which resulted in our making 
the cattle our bedfellows, back to back for 
warmth; for signal as well, to get up if the ox 
did. It was not long though till we were used 
to it, and slept quite a bit except when a storm 
struck us ; well, then it was, to say the least, not 
a pleasure outing. But were n't we glad when 
the morning came, and perchance the smoke of 
the campfire might be in sight, and maybe, as we 
approached, we could catch the aroma of the 
coffee. And then such tender greetings and such 
thoughtful care that would have touched a heart 
of stone, and to us seemed like a paradise. We 
were supremely happy. 

ABANDONED PROPERTY. 

People too often brought their own ills upon 
themselves by their indiscreet action, especially 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 63 

in the loss of their teams. The trip had not pro- 
gressed far till there eaine a universal oatcry 
against the heavy loads and unnecessary articles, 
and soon we begun to see abandoned property. 
First it might be a table or a cupboard or per- 
chance a bedstead or a heavy cast-iron cook- 
stove. Then began to be seen bedding by the 
wayside, feather beds, blankets, quilts, pillows, 
everything of the kind that mortal man might 
want. Not so very long till here and there an 
abandoned wagon was to be seen, provisions, 
stacks of flour, and bacon being the most abun- 
dant, all left as common property. Help your- 
self if you will, no one will interfere, and in fact 
in some places a sign was posted inviting all to 
take what they wanted. Hundreds of wagons 
were left and hundreds of tons of goods. People 
seemed to vie with each other to give away their 
property, there being no chance to sell, and they 
disliked to destroy. Long after the mania for 
getting rid of goods and lightening the load the 
abandonment of wagons continued, as the teams 
became weaker (generally from abuse or lack of 
care), and the ravages of cholera struck us. It 
was then that many lost their heads and ruined 
their teams by furious driving, by lack of care, 

5 



64 THE OX TEAM OR 

and by abuse, There came a veritable stampede, 
a strife for possession of the road, to see who 
should get ahead. Whole trains with bad blood 
would strive for mastery of the road, one at- 
tempting to pass the other, frequently with 
drivers on each side the team to urge the poor, 
suffering dumb brutes forward. 

THE CHOLERA. 

"What shall we do?" passed from one to an- 
other in our little family council. 

"Now, fellers," said McAuley, "do n't lose your 
heads, but do just as you have been doing; you 
gals, just make your bread as light as ever, and 
we '11 boil the water and take river water the 
same as ever, even if it is almost thick as mud." 

We had all along refused to "dig little wells 
near the bank of the Platte," as noted by Apple- 
gate in his quoted article, having soon learned 
that the water obtained was strongly charged 
with alkali, while the river water was compara- 
tively pure other than the fine impalpable sand, 
so fine, one might almost say, as to be held in 
solution. 

"Keep cool," he continued ; "maybe we ? 11 have 
to lay down, and maybe not. Anyway, it 's no 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 65 

use a frettin'. What 's to be will be, specially if 
we but help things along." 

This homely wise counsel fell upon willing 
ears, as most all were already of the same mind, 
and we did, "just as we had been doing," and 
escaped unharmed. 

I look back on that party of nine men and three 
women (and a baby) with four wagons with feel- 
ings almost akin to reverence. 

Thomas McAuley became by natural selection 
the leader of the party although no agreement 
of the kind was ever made. He was, next to his 
maiden sister, the oldest of the party, a most 
fearless man and never "lost his head," whatever 
the emergency might arise, and I have been in 
some pretty tight places with him. While he 
was the oldest, I was the youngest of the men 
folks of the party, and the only married man of 
the lot, and if I do have to say it myself, the 
strongest and ablest to bear the brunt of the 
work (pardon me, reader, when I add and will- 
ing according to my strength, for it is true), and 
so we got along well together till the parting of 
the way came. This spirit, though, pervaded the 
whole camp both with the men and women folks 
to the end. Thomas McAuley still lives, at Ho- 



66 THE OX TEAM OE 

bart Mills, California, or did but a couple of 
years ago when I last heard from him, a respected 
citizen. He has long ago passed the eighty-year 
mark, and has not "laid down" yet. 

THE HAPPY FAMILY. 

Did space but permit I would like to tell more 
in detail of the members of that little happy 
party (family we called ourselves), camped near 
the bank of the Platte when the fury of that 
great epidemic burst upon us, but I can only 
make brief mention. William Buck, my partner, 
a noble man, has long ago "laid down." Always 
scrupulously neat and cleanly, always ready to 
cater to the wants of his companions and as 
honest as the day is long, he has ever held a ten- 
der place in my heart. It was Buck that se- 
lected our nice little outfit complete in every 
part, so that we did not throw away a pound of 
provisions nor need to purchase any. The water 
can was in the wagon, of sufficient capacity to 
supply our wants for a day, and a "sup" for the 
oxen and cows besides. The milk can stood near 
by and always yielded up its lump of butter at 
night, churned by the movement of the wagon 
from the surplus morning's milk. The yeast cake 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 67 

so thoughtfully provided by the little wife ever 
brought forth sweet, light bread baked in that 
tin reflector before the "chip" (buffalo) fire. 
That reflector and those yeast cakes were a great 
factor conducive to our health. Small things, 
to be sure, but great as to results. Instead of 
saleratus biscuit, bacon, and beans we had the 
light bread and fruit with fresh meats and rice 
pudding far out on the Plains, until our supply 
of eggs became exhausted. 

Of the remainder of the party, brother Oliver 
"laid down" forty-five years ago, but his memory 
is still green in the hearts of all who knew him. 
Margaret McAuley died a few years after reach- 
ing California. Like her brother, she was reso- 
lute and resourceful and almost like a mother to 
the younger sister and the young little wife and 
baby. And such a baby ! If one were to judge 
by the actions of all members of that camp, the 
conclusion would be reached there was no other 
such on earth. All seemed rejoiced to know 
there was a baby in camp; — young (only seven 
weeks old when we started), but strong and grew 
apace as the higher altitude was reached. 

Eliza, the younger sister, a type of the healthy, 
handsome American girl, graceful and modest, 



68 THE OX TEAM OB 

became the center of attraction upon which a 
romance might be written, but as the good elderly 
lady still lives, the time has not yet come, and so 
we must draw the veil. 

Of the two Davenport brothers, Jacob, the 
youngest, took sick at Soda Springs, was con- 
fined to the wagon for more than eight hundred 
miles down Snake river in that intolerable dust, 
and finally died soon after we arrived in 
Portland. 

John, the elder brother, always fretful, but 
willing to do his part, has passed out of my 
knowledge. Both came of respected parents on 
an adjoining farm to that of my own home near 
Indianapolis, but I have lost all trace of them. 

Perhaps the general reader may not take even 
a passing interest in this little party (family) 
here described. I can only say that this was 
typical of many such on the Trail of ? 52. The 
McAuleys or P>uck and others of our party could 
be duplicated in larger or smaller parties all 
along the line. There were hundreds of noble 
men trudging up the Platte at that time in an 
army over five hundred miles long, many of whom 
"laid down," a sacrifice to duty, or maybe to in- 
herent weakness of their systems. While it is 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 69 

true such an experience brings out the worst fea- 
tures of individual characters, yet it is neverthe- 
less true the shining virtues come to the front 
likewise; like pure gold, is often found where 
least expected. 

HEROIC PIONEER WOMAN. 

Of the fortitude of the women one can not say 
too much. Embarrassed at the start by the fol- 
lies of fashion (and long dresses which were 
quickly discarded and the bloomer donned), they 
soon rose to the occasion and cast false modesty 
aside. Could we but have had the camera (of 
course not then in existence) on one of those 
typical camps, what a picture there would be. 
Elderly matrons dressed almost as like the little 
sprite miss of tender years of to-day. The 
younger women more shy of accepting the in- 
evitable, but finally fell into the procession, and 
we had a community of women wearing bloomers 
without invidious comment, or in fact of any 
comment at all. Some of them soon went bare- 
foot, partly from choice and in other cases from 
necessity. The same could be said of the men, as 
shoe leather began to grind out from the sand 
and drv heat. Of all the fantastic costumes it is 



70 THE OX TEAM OR 

safe to say the like before was never seen nor 
equaled. The scene beggars description. Patches 
became visible upon the clothing of preachers as 
well as laymen; the situation brooked no re- 
spect of persons. The grandmother's cap was 
soon displaced by a handkerchief or perhaps a 
bit of cloth. Grandfather's high crowned hat dis- 
appeared as if by magic. Hatless and bootless 
men became a common sight. Bonnetless women 
were to be seen on all sides. They wore what 
they had left or could get without question of the 
fitness of things. Rich dresses were worn by 
some ladies because they had no others left; the 
gentlemen drew on their wardrobes till scarcely 
a fine unsoiled suit w T as left. 

HARDSHIPS. 

The dust has been spoken of as intolerable. 
The word hardly expresses the situation; in fact, 
I can not say the English language contains the 
word to define it. Here was a moving mass of 
humanity and dumb brutes at times mixed in 
inextricable confusion a hundred feet wide or 
more. At times two columns of wagons travel- 
ing on parallel lines and near each other served 
as a barrier to prevent loose stock from crossing, 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 71 

but usually there would be an almost inextricable 
mass of cows, young cattle, horses, and footmen 
moving along the outskirts. Here and there 
would be the drivers of loose stock, some on foot 
and some on horseback ; a young girl maybe rid- 
ing astride with a younger child behind, going 
here and there after an intractible cow, while the 
mother could be seen in the confusion lending a 
helping hand. As in a thronged city street, no 
one seemed to look to the right or to the left, or 
pay much if any attention to others, bent alone 
on accomplishment of their task in hand. Over 
all, in calm weather at times the dust would set- 
tle so thick that the lead team of oxen could not 
be seen from the wagon; like a London fog, so 
thick one might almost cut it. 1 Then again, that 
steady flow of wind up to and through the South 
Pass would hurl the dust and sand in one's face 
sometimes with force enough to sting from the 
impact upon the face and hands. 

Then we had storms that were not of sand and 
wind alone; storms that only a Platte valley in 



lr The author spent four winters in London on the world's 
hop market, and perhaps has a more vivid recollection of 
what is meant by a London fog than would be understood 
by the general reader. I have seen the fog and smoke 
there so black that one could not see his hand held at 
arm's length, and it reminded me of some of the scenes of the 
dnst on the Plains. 



72 THE OX TEAM OR 

summer or a Puget Sound winter might turn 
out; storms that would wet to the skin in less 
time than it takes to write this sentence. One 
such I remember being caught in while out on 
watch. The cattle traveled so fast it was difficult 
to keep up with them. I could do nothing else 
than follow, as it would have been as impossible 
to turn them as it would have been to change the 
direction of the wind. I have always thought of 
this as a cloudburst. Anyway, there was not a 
dry thread left on me in an incredibly short time. 
My boots were as full of water as if I had been 
wading over boot-top deep, and the water ran 
through my hat as if it had been a sieve, almost 
blinding me in the fury of wind and water. Many 
tents were leveled, and in fact such occurrences 
as fallen tents were not uncommon. One of our 
neighboring trains suffered no inconsiderable 
loss by the sheets of water on the ground, float- 
ing their camp equipage, ox yokes, and all loose 
articles away; and they only narrowly escaped 
having a wagon engulfed in the raging torrent 
that came so unexpectedly upon them. Such 
were some of the discomforts on the Plains in 
'52. ' 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 73 

On my 1906 trip I have encountered very little 
dust. In tiie early part of it we had some fu- 
rious rains, considerable snow, and a little hail, 
but we had no watches to make, no stock to fol- 
low, no fear but that Twist and Dave would be 
easily found when morning came. These faith- 
ful oxen soon came to know the hand that fed 
them, and almost invariably would come to the 
wagon at nightfall for their nose bags of rolled 
oats or cracked corn. Nevertheless, the trip has 
not been entirely a picnic and entirely devoid of 
cares and fatigue. Too much of a good thing, it 
is said, spoils the whole. And so it is with travel 
day in and day out, from week to week, month to 
month, till the year is half gone. It is, to say the 
least, "wearing" using an old-time western phrase 
the reader will understand, whether he ever 
heard it before or not. But to my friends who 
would have it that I was to encounter untold 
hardships; that I was "going out on the Plains 
to die"; that I would never get back alive — I 
conjure such to sleep soundly and not let the 
hardships bother them, for I have not yet met 
my sick day for the fifty-four years since passing 
this great river, the Missouri. And now let us 
take up the thread of particulars of our journey 
westward. 



74 THE OX TEAM OB 



I 



CHAPTER IX. 

River Crossings. 
WAGON BEDS AS BOATS. 

N 1852 there were but few ferries and none in 
many places where crossings were to be 
made, and where here and there a ferry was found 
the charges were high, or perhaps the word should 
be exorbitant, and out of reach of a large ma- 
jority of the emigrants. In my own case, all my 
funds had been absorbed in procuring my outfit 
at Eddyville, Iowa, not dreaming there would be 
use for money "on the Plains," where there were 
neither supplies nor people. We soon found out 
our mistake, however, and became watchful to 
mend matters when opportunity offered. The 
crossing of Snake river, though late in the trip, 
gave the opportunity. 

About thirty miles below Salmon Palls the 
dilemma confronted us to either cross the river 
or let our teams starve on the trip down the river 
on the south bank. Some trains had caulked 
three wagon-beds and lashed them together and 
were crossing, and would not help others across 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 75 

for less than three to five dollars a wagon, the 
party swimming their own stock. If others could 
cross in wagon-beds, why could I not do so like- 
wise? and without much ado all the old clothing 
that could possibly be spared was marshaled, tar 
buckets ransacked, old chisels and broken knives 
hunted up, and a veritable boat repairing and 
caulking campaign inaugurated; and shortly the 
wagon box rode placidly, even if not gracefully 
on the turbid waters of the formidable river. It 
had been my fortune to be the strongest physic- 
ally of any of our little party of four men, though 
I would cheerfully accept a second place 
mentally. 

My boyhood pranks of playing and paddling 
logs or old leaky skiffs in the waters of White 
river now served me well, for I could row a boat 
even if I had never taken lessons as an athlete. 
My first venture across Snake river was with the 
whole of the wagon gear run over the wagon box, 
the whole being gradually worked out into deep 
water. The load was so heavy that a very small 
margin was left to prevent the water from break- 
ing over the sides, and some actually did as light 
ripples on the surface struck the "Mary Jane," 
as we had christened (without wine) the "craft" 



76 the ox team or 

as she was launched. But I got over safely; yet 
after that took lighter loads and really enjoyed 
the novelty of the work and the change from the 
intolerable dust to the atmosphere of the water. 

DOWN SNAKE RIVER IN WAGON BOXES. 

Some were so infatuated with the idea of float- 
ing on the water as to be easily persuaded by an 
unprincipled trader at the lower crossing to dis- 
pose of their teams for a song, and embark in 
their wagon beds for a voyage down the river. 
It is needless to say that all such (of which there 
were a goodly number) lost everything they had 
and some their lives, the survivors, after incred.- 
ible hardships, reaching the road again to become 
objects of charity where separated entirely from 
friends. I knew one survivor, who yet lives in 
our state, that was out seven days without food 
other than a scant supply of berries and vegetable 
growth, and "a few crickets, but not many," as it 
was too laborious to catch them. 

We had no trouble to cross the cattle, although 
the river was wide. Dandy would do almost any- 
thing I asked of him, so, leading him to the 
water's edge, with a little coaxing I got him into 
swimming water and guided him across with the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 77 

wagon bed, while the others all followed, having 
been driven into the deep water following the 
leader. It seems almost incredible how pas- 
sively obedient cattle will become after long 
training on such a trip in crossing streams. 

We had not finished crossing when tempting 
offers came from others to cross them, but all of 
our party said "No, we must travel." The rule 
had been adopted to travel some every day pos- 
sible. Travel, travel, travel, was the watchword, 
and nothing would divert us from that resolu- 
tion, and so on the third day we were ready to 
pull out from the river with the cattle rested 
from the enforced detention. 

But what about the lower crossing? Those 
who had crossed over the river must somehow or 
another get back. It was less than 150 
miles to where we were again to cross back 
to the south side (left bank) of the river. I 
could walk that in three days, while it would 
take our teams ten. Could I not go ahead, pro- 
cure a wagon-box and start a ferry of my own? 
The thought prompted an affirmative answer at 
once; so with a little food and a small blanket 
the trip to the lower crossing was made. It may 
be ludicrous, but is true, that the most I reniem- 



78 THE OX TEAM OR 

ber about that trip is the jack rabbits — such 
swarms of them I had never seen before as I trav- 
eled down the Boise valley, and never expect to 
see the like again. The trip was made in safety, 
but conditions were different. At the lower 
crossing, as I have already said, some were dis- 
posing of their teams and starting to float down 
the river; some were fording, a perilous under- 
taking, but most of them succeeded who tried, 
and besides a trader whose name I have forgotten 
had an established ferry near the old fort 
(Boise). But I soon obtained the wagon-bed 
and was at work during all of the daylight hours 
(no eight-hour-a-day there) crossing people till 
the teams came up, and for several days after, 
and left the river with f 110 in my pocket, all of 
which was gone before I arrived in Portland, 
save |2.75. 

I did not look ,upon that work then other than 
as a part of the trip to do the best we could. 
None of us thought we were doing a heroic act 
in crossing the plains and meeting emergencies 
as they arose. In fact, we did not think at all of 
that phase of the question. Many have, how- 
ever, in later life looked upon their achievements 
with pardonable pride, and some in a vain- 
glorious mood of mind. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 79 



CHAPTER X. 

Ravages of the Cholera. 

TO MANY the strain upon the system was 
great and suffering intense, and to such 
small wonder if the recollections are a little col- 
ored in their minds. For myself, I can truly say 
that in after pioneer life on Puget Sound there 
was as great discomfort as on the Plains, but 
neither experience laid a firm grip upon me, as 
may be testified by the fact that in all that ex- 
perience, on the Plains, and since, to the day of 
this Avriting never have I been a day sick in bed. 
But I saw much suffering and the loss of life 
from the ravages of cholera was appalling. 
L. B. Rowland, now of Engen, Oregon, recently 
told me of the experience of his train of twenty- 
three persons, between the two crossings of 
Snake river, of which we have just written. Of 
the twenty-three that crossed eleven died before 
they reached the lower crossing. Other trains 
suffered, but probably few to such a great extent. 
But all down the Snake the dust and heat were 
great. They were intolerable to many who gave 
6 



80 THE OX TEAM OR 

way in despair and died. The little young wife, 
the companion now of so many years since, soon 
after took sick and had to be carried in arms up 
the bank of the Willamette and to the lodging 
house in Portland, an easy task for me, as the 
weight incident to health was gone and the frame 
only left. 

THE GREAT PANIC. 

The scourge of cholera on the Platte in 1852 is 
far beyond my power of description. In later 
years I have witnessed panics on shipboard ; have 
experienced the horrors of the flight of a whole 
population from the grasp of the Indians, but 
never before nor since such scenes as those in the 
thickest of the ravages of cholera. It did seem 
that people lost all control of themselves and of 
others. Whole trains could be seen contending 
for the mastery of the road by day, and the power 
of endurance tested to the utmost both men 
and beast at night. The scourge came from the 
south, as we met the trains that crossed the 
Platte and congested the Trail, one might almost 
say, both day and night. And small wonder 
when such scenes occurred as is related. Mrs. 
M. E. Jones, now of North Yakima, relates that 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 81 

forty people of their train died in one day and 
two nights before reaching the crossing of the 
Platte. Martin Cook of Newbury, Oregon, is my 
authority for the following: A family of seven 
persons, the father known as "Dad Friels," from 
Hartford, Warren county, Iowa, all died of chol- 
era and were buried in one grave. He could not 
tell me the locality nor the exact date, but it 
would be useless to search for the graves, as all 
such have long ago been leveled by the passing 
of the hoofs of the buffalo or domestic stock, or 
met the fate of hundreds of shallow graves, dese- 
crated by the hungry wolves. While camped 
with a sick brother four days a short distance 
above Grand Island, by actual count of one day 
and estimate for three, sixteen hundred wagons 
passed by, and a neighboring burial place grew 
from a few to fifty-two fresh graves. 



82 THE OX TEAM OR 

CHAPTER XI. 
The Ox Team Monument Expedition. 

TO PERPETUATE the identity of. the Trail 
made by the early sturdy pioneers, the 
battle-ground of peace, to honor the memories of 
these true heroes and to kindle in the breasts of 
the rising generation a flame of patriotic senti- 
ment, this expedition was undertaken. 

The ox team was chosen as a typical reminder 
of pioneer days, an effective instrument to at- 
tract attention, arouse enthusiasm, and a help 
to secure aid to forward the work of marking the 
old Trail, and erecting monuments in centers of 
population. 

In one respect the object was attained, that of 
attracting attention, with results in part wholly 
unexpected. I had hardly driven the outfit out 
of my dooryard till the work of defacing the 
wagon and wagon cover, and even the nice map 
of the old Trail began. First I noticed a name 
or two written on the wagon-bed, then a dozen 
or more, all stealthily placed there, until the 
whole was so closely covered there was no room 
for more. Finally the vandals began carving in- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 83 

itials on the bed, cutting off pieces to carry away, 
until I finally put a stop to it by employing a 
special police, posting notices, and nabbing some 
in the very act. 

Give me Indians on the Plains to contend with, 
give me fleas, ah, yes, the detested sage brush 
ticks to burrow in your flesh, but deliver me 
from the degenerates of cheap notoriety seekers. 

Many good people have thought there was 
some organization behind this work, or that there 
had been government aid secured. To all such 
and to those who may read these lines I will quote 
from the cards issued at the outset: 

"The expense of this expedition to perpetuate 
the memory of the old Oregon Trail, by erecting 
stone monuments, is borne by myself except such 
voluntary aid as may be given by those taking an 
interest in the work, and you are respectfully 
solicited to contribute such sum as may be 

Convenient." 

To this appeal a generous respor^e has been 
made, as attested by the line of monuments from 
Puget Sound to this poin+ a brief account of 
which, with incidents of this trip and of the trip 
made by me with an ox and cow team in 1852, 
will follow. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 85 

THE TEAM. 

The team consists of one seven-year-old ox, 
Twist, and one unbroken range four-year-old 
steer, Dave. When we were ready to start, Twist 
weighed 1,470 and Dave 1,560 pounds, respect- 
ively. This order of weight was soon changed. 
In three months' time Twist gained 130 and Dave 
lost 10 pounds. All this time I fed with a lavish 
hand all the rolled barley I dare and all the hay 
they would eat. During that time thirty-three 
days lapsed in which we did not travel, being 
engaged either arranging for the erection or dedi- 
cation of monuments. 

TEAM OF 1852 

My team of 1852 consisted of two unbroken 
steers and two cows. The cows I had to give up 
to save the life of the oxen during the deep snow 
that fell in the winter of 1852-53. The oxen 
hauled our belongings over to the head of Puget 
Sound in July, 1853, and I there parted with 
them. Of that parting I quote from my work 
"Pioneer Reminiscences of Puget Sound:" 

"What I am now about to write may provoke 
a smile, but I can only say, reader, put yourself 
in my place. That there should be a feeling akin 



86 THE OX TEAM OR 

to affection between a man and an ox will seem 
past comprehension to many. The time had come 
when Buck and Dandy and I must part for good 
and all. 1 could not transport them to our island 
home, neither provide for them. These patient, 
dumb brutes had been my close companions for 
the long, weary months on the Plains, and had 
never failed me; they would do my bidding to the 
letter. I often said Buck understood English 
better than some people I had seen in my life* 

time. I had done what not one in a hundred did : 

> 

that was to start on that trip with an unbrokeri 
ox and cow team. I had selected these four-year- 
old steers for their intelligent eyes as well as for 
their trim build, and had made no mistake. We 
had bivouacked together ; actually slept together ; 
lunched together. They knew me as far as they 
could see, and seemed delighted to obey my word, 
and I did regret to feel constrained to part with 
them. I knew they had assured my safe transit 
on the weary journey, if not even to the point of 
having saved my life. I could pack them, ride 
them, drive them by the word and receive their 
salutations, and why should I be ashamed to part 
with feelings of more than regret?" 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 87 

I have no such feelings for the brute Twist, for 
on April 12 he kicked me, almost broke my knee, 
and came near disabling me for life, and Dave is 
worse, for they both kick like government mules. 
If the reader happens to know how that is he will 
appreciate the definition. Twist, however, is the 
best all round ox I ever saw. Dave has not yet 
lost his range spirit entirely, and sometimes gets 
mad and unruly. 

THE WAGON. 

The wagon is new woodwork throughout except 
one hub, which did service across the Plains in 
1853. The hub bands, boxes, and other irons are 
from two old-time wagons that crossed the Plains 
in 1853, and differ some in size and shape; hence 
the fore and hind wheel hubs do not match. The 
axles are wood, with the old-time linch pins and 
steel skeins, involving the use of tar and the tar 
bucket. The bed is of the old style "prairie 
schooner" * so-called (see illustration, page 16) 
fashioned as a boat, like those of rt ye olden 
times." I crossed Snake river in two places in 
1852, with all I possessed (except the oxen and 
cows), including the running-gear of the wagon, 
in a wagon-box not as good as this one shown in 
the illustration. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 81) 

CAMP NO. 1. 

Camp No. 1 was in my own front dooryard at 
Puyallup. Washington (see illustration, page 
88), a town established on my own homestead 
nearly forty years ago, on the line of the North- 
ern Pacific railroad, nine miles southeast of Ta- 
coma, and thirty miles south of Seattle, Wash- 
ington. In platting the town I dedicated a park 
and called it Pioneer Park, and in it are the re- 
mains of our old ivy-covered cabin, where the 
wife of fifty-five years ago and I, with our grow- 
ing family, spent so many happy hours. In this 
same town I named the principal thoroughfare 
Pioneer Avenue, and a short street abutting the 
park Pioneer Way, hence the reader may note 
it is not a new idea with me to perpetuate the 
memory of the pioneers. 

No piece of machinery ever runs at the start 
as well as after trial ; therefore Camp No. 1 was 
maintained several days to mend up the weak 
points, and so after a few days of tilal every- 
thing was pronounced in order, and Camp No. 2 
was pitched in the street in front of the Meth- 
odist church of the town, and a lecture delivered 
in the church for the benefit of the expedition. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 91 

TUMWATER, WASHINGTON. 

The final start was made from Camp No. 9 at 
Olympia, Washington, the capital of the state of 
Washington, February 19, 1906, and but two 
miles from the end of the old Trail, — in early 
days of Oregon but now Washington. The drive 
to Turn water was made, a post set at the end of 
the Trail, and subsequently arrangements com- 
pleted to substitute an inscribed stone. 

TENINO MONUMENT. 

At Tenino the citizens had prepared and in- 
scribed a suitable stone, and on February 21 the 
same was dedicated with due ceremony, with 
nearly the whole population in attendance. 

CENTRALIA, WASHINGTON. 

At Central ia contributions were made suffi- 
cient to warrant ordering an inscribed stone, 
which was done, and in due time was placed in 
position at the intersection of the Trail and road 
a short way out from the city. 

CHEHALIS, WASHINGTON. 

At Chehalis a point was selected in the center 
of the street at the park, and a post set to mark 



92 THE OX TEAM OB 

the spot where the monument is to stand. The 
commercial club undertook the work, but were 
not ready to erect and dedicate, as a more expen- 
sive monument than one that could be speedily 
obtained would be provided as an ornament to 
the park. 

I very vividly recollected this section of the 
old Trail, having, in company with a brother, 
packed my blankets and "grub" on my back over 
it in May, 1853, and camped on it near by over 
night, under the sheltering, drooping branches 
of a friendly cedar tree. We did not carry tents 
on such a trip, but slept out under the open can- 
opy of heaven, obtaining such shelter as we could 
from day to day. 

CLAQUATO, WASHINGTON. 

It is permissible to note the liberality of H. C. 
Davis of Claquato, who provided a fund of $50 
to erect a monument at Claquato and $50 for the 
purchase of one ox for the expedition. 

JACKSONS. 

John R. Jackson was the first American citi- 
zen to settle north of the Columbia river. One 
of the daughters, Mrs. Ware, accompanied by 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 93 

her husband, indicated the spot where the monu- 
ment should be erected, and a post was planted. 
A touching incident occurred when Mrs. Ware 
was requested to put the post in place and hold 
it while her husband tamped the earth around 
it, which she did with tears streaming from her 
eyes at the thought that at last her pioneer fath- 
er's place in history was to be recognized. A 
stone was ordered at once, to soon take the place 
of the post. 

TOLEDO, WASHINGTON. 

This village, the last place to reach on the old 
Trail in Washington, is on the Cowlitz, a mile 
from the landing where the pioneers left the river 
for the overland trail to the Sound. 

To this point in July, 1853, I shipped my scant 
belongings from the Columbia river, my wife go- 
ing up in the same canoe, while I drove Buck and 
Dandy up the trail on the left bank of +Iie river. 
A post was planted here on the Trail, and a prom- 
ise made that a stone monument should soon 
replace it. 

PORTLAND, OREGON. 

From Toledo I shipped by river steamer the 
whole outfit, and took passage with my assistants 



THE OX TEAM OB 

Portland, thus reversing the order of travel in 

3, accepting the use of steam instead of the 

wn of the arm of stalwart men and Indians 

propel the canoe, and arrived on the evening 

March 1, and on the morning of March 2 

?hed our camp in the heart of the city on a 

utiful block, the property of Jacob Kamm. 

I remained in camp here until the morning of 

March 9, to test the question of securing aid for 

the expedition. 

Very different was the experience when, on 
October 1, 1852, I carried my sick wife in my 
arms up the bank of the Willamette river three 
blocks away to a colored man's lodging house in 
Portland, with but $2.75 in my pocket and no 
resource but my labor. 

Except for the efforts of that indefatigable 
worker, George H. Himes, assistant secretary of 
the Oregon Historical Society, with headquarters 
in Portland, no helping hand was extended. Not 
but that the citizens took a lively interest in the 
"novel undertaking," in this "unique outfit," yet 
the fact became evident that only the few be- 
lieved the work could be successfully done by 
individual effort, and that government aid should 
be invoked. The prevailing opinion was voiced 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 95 

by a prominent citizen, a trustee of a church, 
who voted against allowing the use of the church 
for a lecture for the benefit of the expedition, 
when he said that he "did not want to do any- 
thing to encourage that old man to go out on the 
Plains to die." Notwithstanding this sentiment, 
through Mr. Himes's efforts nearly |200 was 
contributed. 

March 10, in early morning hours, embarked 
at Portland on the steamer Baily Gatzert, for 
The Dalles, which place was reached after night, 
but enlivened by a warm reception from the citi- 
zens awaiting our arrival, who conducted us to a 
camping place that had been selected. 

Upon this steamer one can enjoy all the lux- 
uries of civilized life, a continuous trip now be- 
ing made through the government locks at the 
cascades. The tables are supplied with delicacies 
the season affords, with clean linen for the beds, 
and obsequious attendants to supply the wants 
of the travelers. 

"What changes time has wrought," I ex- 
claimed. "Can this be the same Columbia river 
which I traversed fifty-four years ago? Yes, there 
are the mighty mountains, the wonderful water- 
falls, the sunken forests, each attesting the iden- 

7 



96 THE OX TEAM OR 

tity of the spot; but what about the conditions?" 
Reader, pardon me if I make a digression and 
quote from my reminiscences an account of that 
trip fifty-four years ago. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 97 



O 



CHAPTER XII. 

Floating Down the River. 1 

N A September day of 1852 an assemblage 
of persons could be seen encamped on the 
banks of the great Columbia, at The Dalles, now 
a city of no small pretensions, but then only a 
name for the peculiar configuration of country 
adjacent to and including the waters of the great 
river. One would soon discover this assemblage 
was constantly changing. Every few hours 
stragglers came in from off the dusty road, be- 
grimed with the sweat of the brow commingled 
with particles of dust driven through the air, 
sometimes by a gentle breeze, and then again by 
a violent gale sweeping up the river through the 
mountain gap of the Cascade range. A motley 
crowd these people were, almost cosmopolitan in 
nationality, yet all vestige of race peculiarities 
or race prejudices ground away in the mill of 
adversity and trials common to all alike in com- 



^rom "Pioneer Reminiscences of Puget Sound, The 
Tragedy of Leschi," by Ezra Meeker, published and sold 
by the author. 6x9, 600 pages, cloth $3.00; leather $4.00. 
Puyallup, Washington. 



98 THE OX TEAM OE 

mon danger. And yet, the dress and appearance 
of this assemblage were as varied as the human 
countenance and as unique as the great mountain 
scenery before them. Some were clad in scanty 
attire as soiled with the dust as their brows; 
others, while with better pretensions, lacked 
some portions of dress required in civilized life. 
Here a matronly dame with clean apparel would 
be without shoes, or there, perhaps, the husband 
without the hat or perhaps both shoes and hat 
absent; there the youngsters of all ages, making 
no pretensions to genteel clothing other than to 
cover their nakedness. An expert's ingenuity 
would be taxed to the utmost to discover either 
the texture or original color of the clothing of 
either juvenile or adult, so prevailing was the 
patchwork and so inground the particles of dust 
and sand from off the Plains. 

"Some of these people were buoyant and hope- 
ful in the anticipation of meeting friends whom 
they knew were awaiting them at their journey's 
end, while others were downcast and despondent 
as their thoughts went back to their old homes 
left behind, and the struggle now so near ended, 
and forward to the (to them) unknown land 
ahead. Some had laid friends and relatives ten- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 99 

derly away in the shifting sands, who had fallen 
by the wayside, with the certain knowledge that 
with many the spot selected by them would not 
be the last resting place for the bones of the loved 
ones. The hunger of the wolf had been appeased 
by the abundance of food from the fallen cattle 
that lined the trail for a thousand miles or more, 
or from the weakened beasts of the emigrants 
that constantly submitted to capture by the re- 
lentless native animals. Not so for the future, 
when this supply of food had disappeared. 

"The story of the trip across the Plains in 1852 
is both interesting and pathetic, but I have 
planned to write of life after the journey rather 
than much about the journey itself; of the trials 
that beset the people after their five months' 
struggle on the tented field of two thousand miles 
of marching was ended, where, like on the very 
battlefield, the dead lay in rows of fifties or 
more ; where the trail became so lined with fallen 
animals one could scarcely be out of sight or 
smell of carrion; where the sick had no respite 
from suffering nor the well from fatigue. But 
this oft-told story is a subject of itself, treated 
briefly to the end we may have space to tell what 
happened when the journey was ended. 



too 



THE OX TEAM OR 



"The constant gathering on the bank of the 
Columbia and constant departures of the emi- 
grants did not materially change the numbers 
encamped, nor the general appearance. The 
great trip had moulded this army of home-seek- 
ers into one homogenous mass, a common broth- 
erhood, that left a lasting impression upon the 
participants, and, although few are left now, not 
one but will greet an old comrade as a brother 
indeed, and, in fact, with hearty and oftentimes 
tearful congratulations. 

"We camped but two days on the bank of the 
river. When I say 'we ? let it be understood that 
I mean myself, my young Avife, and the little baby 
boy, who was but seven weeks old when the start 
was made from near Eddyville, Iowa. Both were 
sick, the mother from gradual exhaustion during 
the trip incident to motherhood, and the little 
one in sympathy, doubtless drawn from the moth- 
er's breast. 

"Did you ever think of the wonderful mystery 
of the inner action of the mind, how some im- 
pressions once made seem to remain, while oth- 
ers gradually fade away, like the twilight of a 
summer sunset, until finally lost? And then 
how seemingly trivial incidents will be fastened 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 101 

upon one's memory while others of more im- 
portance we would recall if we could, but which 
have faded forever from our grasp? I can well 
believe all readers have had this experience, and 
so will be prepared to receive with leniency the 
confession of an elderly gentleman (I will not 
say old), when he says that most of the incidents 
are forgotten and few remembered. I do not re- 
member the embarking on the great scow for the 
float down the river to the Cascades, but vividly 
remember, as though it were but yesterday, inci- 
dents of the voyage. We all felt (I now mean 
the emigrants who took passage) that now our 
journey was ended. The cattle had been unyoked 
for the last time ; the wagons had been rolled to 
the last bivouac ; the embers of the last campfire 
had died out; the last word of gossip had been 
spoken, and now, we were entering a new field 
with new present experience, and with new ex- 
pectancy for the morrow. 

"The scow or lighter upon which we took pas- 
sage was decked over, but without railing, a sim- 
ple, smooth surface upon which to pile our be- 
longings, which, in the great majority of cases 
made but a very small showing. I think there 
must have been a dozen families, or more, of sixty 



102 THE OX TEAM OB 

or more persons, principally women and children, 
as the young men (and some old ones, too) were 
struggling on the mountain trail to get the teams 
through to the west side. The whole deck surface 
of the scow was covered with the remnants of 
the emigrants' outfits, which in turn were covered 
by the owners, either sitting or reclining upon 
their possessions, leaving but scant room to 
change position or move about in any way. 

"Did you ever, reader, have the experience 
when some sorrow overtook you, or when some 
disappointment had been experienced, or when 
deferred hopes had not been realized, or some- 
times even without these and from some un- 
known, subtle cause, feel that depression of spir- 
its that for lack of a better name we call 'the 
blues V When the world ahead looked dark; 
when hope seemed extinguished and the future 
looked like a blank? Why do I ask this ques- 
tion? I know you all to a greater or less degree 
have had just this experience. Can you wonder 
that, after our craft had been turned loose upon 
the waters of the great river, and begun floating 
lazily down with the current, that such a feeling 
as that' described would seize us as with an iron 
grip? We were like an army that had burned 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 103 

the bridges behind them as they marched, and 
with scant knowledge of what lay in the track 
before them. Here we were, more than two thou- 
sand miles from home, separated by a trackless, 
uninhabited waste of country, impossible for us 
to retrace our steps. Go ahead we must, no mat- 
ter what we were to encounter. Then, too, the 
system had been strung up for months to duties 
that could not be avoided or delayed, until many 
were on the verge of collapse. Some were sick 
and all reduced in flesh from the urgent call for 
camp duty, and lack of variety of food. Such 
were the feelings of the motley crowd of sixty 
persons as w r e slowly neared that wonderful crev- 
ice through which the great river flows while 
passing the Cascade mountain range. 

"For myself, I can truly say that the trip had 
not drawn on my vitality as I saw wifn so many. 
True, I had been worked down in flesh, having 
lost nearly twenty pounds on the trip, but what 
weight I had left was the bone and sinew of my 
system, that served me so well on this trip and 
has been my comfort in other walks of life at a 
later period. And so, if asked, did you experi- 
ence hardship on the trip across the Plains, I 
could not answer yes without a mental reserva- 



104 THE OX TEAM OK 

tion that it might have been a great deal worse. 
I say the same as to after experience, for these 
subsequent fifty years or n?ore of pioneer life, 
having been blessed with a good constitution, 
and being now able to say that in the fifty-three 
years of our married life the wife has never seen 
me a day sick in bed. But this is a digression 
and so we must turn our attention to the trip on 
the scow, 'floating down the river/ 

"In our company, a party of three, a young 
married couple and an unmarried sister lounged 
on their belongings, listlessly watching the rip- 
ples on the water, as did also others of the party. 
But little conversation was passing. Each 
seemed to be communing with himself or herself, 
but it was easy to see what were the thoughts 
occupying the minds of all. The young husband, 
it was plain to be seen, would soon complete that 
greater journey to the unknown beyond, a condi- 
tion that weighed so heavily upon the ladies of 
the party that they could ill conceal their solici- 
tude and sorrow:. Finally, to cheer up the sick 
husband and brother, the ladies began in sweet 
subdued voices to sing the old familiar song of 
'Home, .Sweet Home/ whereupon others of the 
party joined in the chorus with increased vol- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 105 

ume of sound. As the echo of the echo died away, 
at the moment of gliding under the shadow of 
the high mountain, the second verse was begun, 
but was never finished. If an electric shock had 
startled every individual of the party, there could 
have been no more simultaneous effect than when 
the second line of the second verse was reached, 
when, instead of song, sobs and outcries of grief 
poured forth from all lips. It seemed as if there 
were a tumult of despair mingled with prayer 
pouring forth without restraint. The rugged 
boatmen rested upon their oars in awe and gave 
away in sympathy with the scene before them, 
until it could truly be said no dry eyes were left 
nor aching heart but was relieved. Like the 
downpour of a summer shower that suddenly 
clears the atmosphere to welcome the bright shin- 
ing sun that follows, so this sudden outburst of 
grief cleared away the despondency, to be re- 
placed by an exalted exhilarating feeling of buoy- 
ancy and hopefulness. The tears were not dried 
till mirth took possession — a real hysterical man- 
ifestation of the whole party, that ended all de- 
pression for the remainder of the trip." 



106 THE OX TEAM OB 



CHAPTEE XIII. 

The Ox Team Expedition Continued. 

THE DALLES, OREGON. 

I quote from my journal : 

"The Dalles, Oregon, Camp No. 16, March 10. 
Arrived last night all in a muss, with load out 
of the wagon, but the mate had his men put the 
bed on, and a number of willing boys helped to 
tumble all loose articles into the wagon while 
Goebel arranged them, leaving the boxes for a 
second load. Drove nearly three-quarters of a 
mile to a camping ground near the park, se- 
lected by the citizens; surprised to find the 
streets muddy. Cattle impatient and walked 
very fast, necessitating my tramping through the 
mud at their heads. Made second load while Goe- 
bel put up the tent, and went to bed at 10:00 
o'clock, which was as soon as things were ar- 
ranged for the night. No supper or even tea, as 
we did not build a fire. It was clear last night, 
but raining this morning, which turned to sleet 
and show by 9 :00 o'clock. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 107 

"March 11. Heavy wind last night that threat- 
ened to bring our tent down on our heads and 
which brought cold weather; ice formed in the 
camp half inch thick; damper of stove out of 
order, which, with the wind, drove the smoke out 
of the stove and filled the tent full of smoke, 
making life miserable. In consequence of the 
weather, the dedication ceremonies were post- 
poned." 

Prior to leaving home I had written to the 
ladies of the landmark committee that upon my 
arrival at The Dalles I would be pleased to have 
their cooperation to secure funds to erect a mon- 
ument in their city. What should they do but 
put their heads together and provide one already 
inscribed and in place and notify me that I had 
been selected to deliver the dedicatory address 
and that it was expected the whole city would 
turn out to witness the ceremonies. But alas, 
the fierce cold winds spoiled all their well-laid 
plans, for the dedication had to be postponed. 
Finally, upon short notice, the stone was duly 
dedicated on the 12th of March with a few hun- 
dred people in attendance with their wraps and 
overcoats on (see illustration, page 108), 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 109 

Before leaving Seattle I had the oxen shod, 
for which I was charged the unmerciful price of 
$15, but they did such a poor job that by the 
time I arrived at The Dalles all the shoes but 
one were off the Dave ox, and several lost off 
Twist, and the remainder loose, and so I was 
compelled to have the whole of the work done 
over again at The Dalles. 

This time the work was well done, all the shoes 
but one staying on for a distance of 600 miles, 
when we threw the Dave ox to replace the lost 
shoe, there being no stocks at hand. The charge 
at The Dalles was $10, thus making quite 
an inroad upon the scant funds for the expedi- 
tion. I felt compelled to have them again shod 
at Kemmerer, Wyoming, 818 miles out from The 
Dalles, but soon lost several shoes, and finally 
at the Pacific Springs had the missing shoes re- 
placed by inexperienced hands, w r ho did a good 
job, though, for the shoes stayed on until well 
worn. 

On the Plains in '52 but few shod their cattle. 
Many cows were worked, and light steers, and 
most of the outfits had spare cattle to put in 
their teams in case one became lame or tender 
footed. I knew of several tying cowhide shoes 






w 


^ 


HH^ ^ 


p 




z 




o 




S 




a 




z 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 111 

on to protect the feet of their cattle, while with 
others it was pitiable to see the suffering, limp- 
ing, dumb brutes laboring. 

OUT FEOM THE DALLES. 

At 3:30 p.m. on March 14 we drove out from 
The Dalles. I have always felt that here was the 
real starting point, as from here there could be 
no more shipping, but all driving. By rail it is 
1,734 miles from The Dalles to Omaha, where 
our work on the old Trail ends. By wagon road 
the distance is some greater, but not much, prob- 
ably 1,800 miles. The load was heavy as well as 
the roads. With a team untrained to the road, 
and one ox unbroken, and no experienced ox 
driver, and the grades heavy, small wonder if a 
feeling of depression crept over me. On some 
long hills we could move up but one or two 
lengths of the wagon at a time, and on level roads 
with the least warm sun the unbroken ox would 
poke out his tongue. He was like the young 
sprig just out of school, with muscles soft and 
breath short. 

PENDLETON, OREGON. 

A fourteen-days drive to Pendleton, Oregon, 
138% miles, without meeting any success in in- 



112 THE OX TEAM OR 

teresting people to help in the work, was not 
inspiring. On this stretch, with two assistants, 
the Trail was marked with boulders and cedar 
posts at intersections with traveled roads, 
river crossings, and noted camping places, 
but no center of population was encoun- 
tered until I reached the town of Pendleton. 
Here the commercial club took hold with a will, 
provided the funds to inscribe a stone monument, 
which was installed, and on the 31st of March 
dedicated it (see illustration, page 110), with 
over a thousand people present. Here one as- 
sistant was discharged, the camera and photo 
supplies stored, a small kodak purchased, and 
the load otherwise lightened by shipping tent, 
stove, stereopticon, and other etceteras over the 
Blue mountains to La Grand. 

On that evening I drove out six miles to the 
Indian school in a fierce wind- and rainstorm 
that set in soon after the dedication ceremonies, 
on my way over the Blue mountains. 

A night in the wagon without fire in cold 
weather and with scant supper was enough to 
cool one's ardor, but, when the next morning the 
information was given out that eighteen inches 
of snow had fallen on the mountains, zero was 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 113 

reached. However, with the morning sun came 
a warm reception from the authorities of the 
school, a room with a stove in it allotted us, and 
a command to help ourselves to fuel. 

THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

Before this last fall of snow some had said it 
would be impossible for me to cross, while others 
said it could be done, but that it would be a 
"hard job." So I thought best to go myself, in- 
vestigate on the spot, and not "run my neck into 
a halter" (whatever that may mean) for lack of 
knowing at first hands. So that evening 
Meacham was reached by rail and I was dumped 
off in the snow near midnight, no visible light in 
hotel nor track beaten to it, and again the ardor 
was cold — cool, cooler, cold. 

Morning confirmed the story; twenty inches 
of snow had fallen, but was settling very fast. 
A sturdy mountaineer, and one of long experi- 
ence and an owner of a team, in response to my 
query if he could help me across with his team 
said, "Yes, it's possible to make it, but I warn 
you it 's a hard job," and so the arrangement was 
at once made that the second morning after our 
meeting his team would leave Meacham on the 
way to meet me. 



114 



THE OX TEAM OR 



"But what about a monument, Mr. Burns ?" I 
said. "Meacham is a historic place with Lee's 
encampment 1 in sight." 

"We have no money," came the quick reply, 
"but plenty of brawn. Send us a stone and I '11 
warrant you the foundation will be built and the 
monument put in place." 

A belated train gave opportunity to return at 
once to Pendleton. An appeal for aid to provide 
an inscribed stone for Meacham was responded 
to with alacrity, the stone ordered, and a sound 
night's sleep followed — ardor rising. 



MEACHAM, OREGON. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Camp No. 3, April 4 (1906). We are now 
on the snow line of the Blue mountains (8:00 
p.m.), and am writing this by our first real out- 
of-door campfire, under the spreading boughs of 
a friendly pine tree. We estimate have driven 
twelve miles; started from the school at 7:00 
(a.m.) ; the first three or four miles over a beau- 

1 Jason Lee, the first missionary to the Oregon country, 
with four assistants, camped here in September, 1834, at, 
as he supposed, the summit of the Blue mountains, and 
ever after the little opening in the forests of the moun- 
tains has been known as Lee's encampment. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 

tiful farming country, and then began climbing 
the foothills, up, up, up, four miles and soon 
again up, reaching the first snow at 3 :00 o'clock. 
The long up-hill pull fagged the Dave ox, so we 
had to wait on him, although I had given him an 
inch the advantage on the yoke." 

True to promise, the team met us, but not till 
we had reached the snow, axle deep, and had the 
shovel in use to clear the way. But by 3 :00 p.m. 
we were safely encamped at Meachara, with the 
cheering news that the monument had arrived 
and could be dedicated the next day, and so the 
snowfall had proved a blessing in disguise, as 
otherwise there would not have been a monument 
provided for Meacham. Ardor warming. 

But the summit had not been reached. The 
worst tug lay ahead of us. Casting all thoughts 
of this from mind, all hands turned their atten- 
tion to the monument, which by 11:00 o'clock 
was in place, the teams hitched up, standing near 
it, and ready for the start as soon as the order 
was given. Everybody was out, the little school 
in a body, a neat speech was made by the orator 
from Pendleton, and the two teams to the one 
wagon moved on to the front to battle with the 
snow. And it was a battle. We read of the "last 



116 THE OX TEAM OE 

straw that broke the camel's back." I said, after 
we had gotten through, "I wonder if another flake 
of snow would have balked us?" But no one 
answered, and I took it for granted they didn't 
know. And so we went into camp on the hither 
side of the summit. Ardor warmer. 

LA GRAND, OREGON. 

The sunshine that was let into our hearts at 
La Grand (Oregon) was refreshing. "Yes, we 
will have a monument," the response came, and 
they did, too, and dedicated it while I tarried. 
Ardor normal. 

LADD'S CANYON. 

I again quote from my journal: 

"Camp No. 34, April 11. We left La Grand 
at 7:30 (a.m.) and brought an inscribed stone 
with us to set up at intersection near the mouth 
of Ladd's canyon, eight miles out from La Grand. 
At 1:00 o'clock the school near by came in a 
body, and several residents to see and hear. The 
children sang 'Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean/ 
after which I talked to them for a few moments, 
closing by all singing ' America' and we photo- 
graphed the scene. Each child brought a stone 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 117 

and cast it upon the pile surrounding the base 
of the monument." 

CAMP NO. 34. 

At this camp, on April 12, the Twist ox kicked 
me and almost totally disabled my right leg for 
a month and probably has resulted in permanent 
injury. Much had to be left undone that other- 
wise could have been accomplished, but I am re- 
joiced that it was no worse and thankful to the 
kind friends that worked so ardently to accom- 
plish what has been done, an account of which 
follows. 

BAKER CITY, OREGON. 

The citizens of Baker City lent a willing ear 
to the suggestion to erect a monument on the 
high school ground to perpetuate the memory of 
the old Trail and to honor the pioneers who made 
it, although the Trail is off to the north six miles. 
A fine granite shaft was provided and dedicated 
while I tarried, and an inscribed stone marker 
set in the Trail. Eight hundred school children 
contributed an aggregate of $60 to place a chil- 
dren's bronze tablet on this shaft. The money 
for this work was placed in the hands of the 










# 




THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 119 

school directors. Two thousand people partici- 
pated in the ceremony of dedication on the 19th, 
and all were proud of the work. A wave of gen- 
uine enthusiasm prevailed, and many of the au- 
dience lingered long after the exercises were over. 
A photograph of the Old Timer was taken 
after the ceremonies of the dedication, and many 
a moistened eye attested the interest taken in the 
impromptu reunion. 

OLD MOUNT PLEASANT, OREGON. 

Sixteen miles out from Baker City at Straw 
Ranch, set an inscribed stone at an important 
intersection. At Old Mount Pleasant I met the 
owner of the place where I wanted to plant the 
stone (always, though, in the public highway) 
and asked him to contribute, but he refused and 
treated me with scant courtesy. Thirteen young 
men and one lady, hearing of the occurrence, 
contributed the cost of the stone and f 6 extra. 
The tent was filled with people till 9 :00 o'clock 
at night. The next day, while planting the stone, 
five young lads came along, stripped off their 
coats, and worked with earnestness until finished. 
I note these incidents to show the interest taken 
by the people at large, of all classes. 



120 THE OX TEAM OR 

DURKEE, OREGON. 

The people of Durkee had "heard what was go- 
ing on down the line," and said they were ready 
to provide the funds for a monument. One was 
ordered from the granite works at Baker City, 
and in due time was dedicated, but unfortunately 
I have no photograph of it. The stone was 
planted in the old Trail on the principal street 
of the village. 

HUNTINGTON. 

Huntington came next in the track where the 
Trail ran, and here a granite monument was 
erected and dedicated while I tarried, for which 
the citizens willingly contributed. Here seventy- 
six school children contributed their dimes and 
half dimes, aggregating over f 4. 

After the experience in Baker City, Oregon, 
where, as already related, 800 children contrib- 
uted and at Boise, Idaho, to be related later, over 
a thousand laid down their offerings, I am con- 
vinced this feature of the work is destined to give 
great results. It is not the financial aid I refer 
to, but the effect it has upon children's minds to 
set them to thinking of this subject that has here- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 121 

tofore laid dormant, and to kindle a flame of 
patriotic sentiment that will endure in after life. 
Each child in Baker City, or in Huntington, or 
Boise, or other places where these contributions 
have been made, feel they have a part ownership 
in the shaft they helped to pay for, and a tender 
care for it that will grow stronger as the child 
grows older. 

VALE, OREGON. 

It was not a question at Vale, Oregon, as to 
whether thev would erect a monument, but as 
to what kind, that is, what kind of stone. Local 
pride prevailed, and a shaft was erected out of 
local material which was not so suitable as gran- 
ite, but the spirit of the people was manifested. 
Exactly seventy school children contributed to 
the fund for erecting this monument, which was 
placed on the court house grounds, and partici- 
pated in the exercises of dedication on April 
30. 



122 



THE OX TEAM OR 



CHAPTER XIV. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

OLD FORT BOISE. 

THIS finished the work in Oregon, as we soon 
crossed Snake river just below the mouth of 
Boise and were landed on the historic spot of the 
old Fort Boise, established by the Hudson Bay 
Company in September, 1834. This fort was es- 
tablished for the purpose of preventing the suc- 
cess of the American venture at Fort Hull, a post 
established earlier in 1834 by Nathaniel J. 
Wythe. Wythe's venture proved disastrous, and 
the fort soon passed into his rival's hands, the 
Hudson Bay Company, thus for the time being 
securing undisputed British rule for the whole 
of that vast region known as the Inland Empire. 
Some relics of the old fort at Boise were se- 
cured, arrangements made for planting a double 
inscribed stone to mark the site of the fort and 
the Trail, and afterwards, through the liberality 
of the citizens of Boise City, a stone was shipped 
and doubtless before this put in place. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 123 

PARMA, IDAHO. 

The first town encountered in Idaho was 
Parma, where the contributions warranted ship- 
ping an inscribed stone from Boise City, which 
was done, and is doubtless ere this in place, but 
no photograph of it is at hand. 

BOISE, IDAHO. 

At Boise, the capital city of Idaho, there were 
nearly 1,200 contributions to the monument fund 
by the pupils of the public schools, each child 
signing his or her name to the roll, showing the 
school and grade to which the child belonged. 
These rolls with printed headings were collected, 
bound together, and deposited with the archives 
of the Pioneer Society historical collection for 
future reference and as a part of the history of 
the monument. Each child was given a signed 
certificate showing the amount of the contribu- 
tion. The monument stands on the state house 
grounds and is inscribed as the children's offer- 
ing to the memory of the pioneers. Near three 
thousand people attended the dedication service, 
the program of which is here given in full to 
show the spirit prevailing and to illustrate the 
zeal manifested in many other places : 






124 THE OX TEAM OR 

PROGRAM PIONEER MONUMENT DEDICATION. 



Capitol Grounds, Boise, Idaho, Wednesday, may 9, 1906. 

major j. a. pinney, presiding. 

Song "Idaho" 

By the School Children. 

A lovely mountain home is ours, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
Of winters mild and springtime showers, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
Her breezes blow from western shore; 
Where broad Pacific's billows roar; 
Each year we love her more and more, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 

Her mountains grand are crowned with snow, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
And valleys fertile spread below, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
The towering pines on cliffs so ste^p, 
O'er cataracts their vigils keep, 
Or in the lakes are mirrored deep, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 

A thousand hills where herds may range, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
And lava beds so weird and strange, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
Above our heads are cloudless skies, 
In gorgeous hues the sunset dies, 
The starry diamonds greet the eyes, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 

Such is our wondrous mountain home, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
And far away we ne'er would roam, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 
Oh "Land of Liberty," we tell, 
■ Beneath a starry flag we dwell; 
One star is ours, we love it well, 

Idaho, O, Idaho! 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 125 

Invocation By Dean Hinks 

Address By F. R. Coffin 

Unveiling Monument 

Esther Gregory, Louise Morrison, Edna Perrault, 
and Elizabeth Hays. 

Song "Star Spangled Banner" 

By male quartet, composed of P. E. Tate, C. R. Davis, 

L. W. Thrailkill, and M. R. McFerrin. 
Presentation on behalf of the school, Prof. J. E. Williamson 

Address By Ezra Meeker 

The "Trail Marker," of Puyallup, Wash. 

Hymn "America" 

By the Audience. 

My country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty,- — 

Of thee I sing: 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain side 

Let freedom ring! 

My native country, thee, — 
Land of the noble, free, — 

Thy name I love: 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Our fathers' God, to thee, 
Author of liberty, — 

To thee we sing: 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God, our King. 



126 THE OX TEAM OR 

The citizens of Boise also paid for the stone 
planted on the site of the old fort and also for 
one planted on the Trail, near the South Boise 
school buildings, all of which were native granite 
shafts of which there is a large supply very suit- 
able for such work. 

TWIN FALLS, IDAHO. 

At Twin Falls, 537 miles out from The Dalles, 
funds were contributed to place an inscribed 
stone in the track of the old Trail a mile from 
the city, and a granite shaft was accordingly 
ordered. 

AMERICAN FALLS, IDAHO. 

Upon my arrival at American Falls, Idaho, 
649 miles out from The Dalles, a combination 
was quickly formed to erect a cement shaft 
twelve feet high to plant in the track of the Trail, 
and a park was to be dedicated where the monu- 
ment is to stand and a section of the old Trail 
preserved. 

POCATELLO, IDAHO. 

The ladies' study club has undertaken the 
work to erect a monument at Pocatello, Idaho, 
676 miles out from The Dalles. I made twenty- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 127 

three addresses to the school children on behalf 
of the work before leaving, and have the satis- 
faction of knowing the undertaking has been 
vigorously prosecuted, and that a fine monument 
will soon be in place on the high school grounds. 

SODA SPRINGS, IDAHO. 

At Soda Springs, 739 miles from The Dalles, 
the next place where an attempt was made to 
erect a monument, a committee of citizens under- 
took the work, collected the funds to erect a mon- 
ument by one of those beautiful bubbling soda 
springs, which is in the park and on the Trail. 

MONTPELIER, IDAHO. 

Montpelier proved no exception to what ap- 
parently had become the rule. A committee of 
three was appointed by the commercial club to 
take charge of the work of erecting a monument, 
a contribution from members and citizens so- 
licited, nearly $30 collected and paid into the 
bank, and arrangements made for increasing the 
contributions and completing the monument 
were made before the team arrived. 

A pleasant feature of the occasion was the call- 
ing of a meeting of the woman's club at the 



128 THE OX TEAM OK 

Hunter hotel, where I was stopping, and a reso- 
lution passed to thoroughly canvass the town for 
aid in the work, and to interest the school 
children. 

THE MAD BULL. 

I quote from my journal : 

"June 7, up at 4:30; started at 5:30; arrived 
at Montpelier 11:00 a.m. ... A dangerous 
and exciting incident occurred this forenoon 
when a vicious bull attacked the team, first from 
one side and then the other, getting in between 
the oxen and causing them to nearly upset the 
wagon. I was finally thrown down in the mel6e, 
but escaped unharmed," and it was a narrow 
escape from being run oyer by both team and 
wagon. 

THE WOUNDED BUFFALO. 

This incident reminded me of a "scrape" one 
of our neighboring trains got into on the Platte 
in 1852 with a wounded buffalo. The train had 
encountered a large herd feeding and traveling 
at right angles to the road. The older heads of 
the party, fearing a stampede of their teams, had 
given orders not to molest the buffaloes, but to 
give their whole attention to care of the teams. 



THB OLD OREGON TRAIL 129 

But one impulsire young fellow would not be 
restrained and fired into the herd and wounded 
a large bull. Either in anger or from confusion 
the mad bull charged upon a wagon filled with 
women and children and drawn by a team of 
mules. He became entangled in the harness and 
on the tongue between the mules. An eye-witness 
described the scene as "exciting for awhile." It 
would be natural for the women to scream, the 
children to cry, and the men to halloa, but the 
practical question was how to dispatch the bull 
without shooting the mules as well. What with 
multiplicity of counsel, the independent action 
of every one, each having a plan of his own, there 
seemed certain to be some fatalities from the gun- 
shots of the large crowd of trainmen who had 
forgotten their own teams and rushed to the 
wagon in trouble. As in this incident of my own, 
just related, nothing was harmed and no one was 
hurt, but when it was over all agreed it was past 
understanding how it came about there was no 
loss of life or bodily injury. 

COKEVILLE, WYOMING. 

Cokeville, 800^4 miles out on the Trail from 
The Dalles, and near the junction of the Sublet 



130 



THE OX TEAM OR 



cut-off with the more southerly trail, resolved to 
have a monument, and arrangements were com- 
pleted for erecting one of stone from a nearby 
quarry that will bear witness for many centuries. 




ROCKY MOUNTAIN SCENERY 



THE OLD OREGON TJJAIL. 131 



CHAPTER XV. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

THE ROOKY MOUNTAINS. 

FROM Cokeville to Pacific Springs, just west 
of the summit of the Rocky mountains at 
South Pass, by the road and trail we traveled, is 
158 miles. Ninety miles of this stretch is away 
from the sound of the locomotive, the click of 
the telegraph, or the hello girl. It is a great ex- 
tension of that grand mountain range, the Rock- 
ies, from six to seven thousand feet above sea 
level, with scant vegetable growth, and almost a 
solitude as to habitation, save here and there a 
sheep-herder or his typical wagon might be dis- 
covered. The bold coyote, the simple antelope, 
and the cunning sage hen still hold their sway 
as they did fifty-four years ago, when I first trav- 
ersed the country. The old Trail is there in all 
its grandeur. 

"Why mark that Trail ?" I exclaim. Miles and 
miles of it worn so deep that centuries of storm 
will not efface it; generations may pass and the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 133 

origin of the Trail become a legend, but the 
marks will be there to perplex the wondering 
eyes of those who people the continent ten cen- 
turies hence, ay, a hundred centuries, I am ready 
to say. We winder to see it worn fifty feet wide 
and three feet deep and hasten to take snap 
shots at it with kodak and camera. But what 
about it later, after we are over the crest of the 
mountain? We see it a hundred feet wide and 
fifteen feet deep, two tracks or more abreast as like 
that shown in the illustration, where the tramp of 
thousands upon thousands and the hoofs of millions 
of animals and the wheels of untold numbers of 
vehicles has loosened the soil and the fierce winds 
have carried it away, and finally we find ruts a foot 
deep or more, worn into the solid rock until the 
axles would actually drag on the solid rock, compet- 
ing the opening of a new way. "What a mighty 
movement, this over the old Oregon Trail," we 
exclaim time and again, each time with greater 
wonderment at the marvels yet to be seen, and hear 
the stories of the few yet left of those who saw, felt, 
and heard. 

Nor do we escape from this solitude of the 
western slope till we have traveled 150 miles east 



134 THE OX TEAM OR 

from the summit, when the welcome black smoke 
of the locomotive is seen in the distance, at Cas- 
per, a stretch of 250 miles of primitive life of ye 
olden times of fifty years ago. 

Nature's freaks in the Rocky mountains are 
beyond my power of description. We catch sight 
of one a few miles west of the Little Sandy (see 
illustration) without name. We venture to call 
it Tortoise Rock, from the resemblance to that 
animal, with head erect and extended, as seen in 
the illustration. Farther on, as night approaches, 
we are in the presence of animals unused to the 
sight of man. I quote from my journal : 

PACIFIC SPRINGS. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Pacific Springs, Wyoming, Camp No. 79, 
June 20, 1906, odometer 958 (miles from The 
Dalles, Oregon.) Arrived at 6:00 p.m. and 
camped near Halter's store and the P. O. ; ice 
formed in camp during the night. . . . 

"Camp No. 79, June 21. Remained in camp 
all day and got down to solid work on my new 
book, the title of which is not yet developed in 
my mind. . . . 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 135 

"Camp No. 79, June 22. Remained in camp 
all day at Pacific Springs and searched for a 
suitable stone for a monument to be placed at 
the summit. After almost despairing, I sud- 
denly came to exactly what was wanted, and al- 
though alone on the mountain side, exclaimed, 
'That is what I want; that's it.' So, a little 
later, after procuring help, we turned it over to 
find that both sides were flat ; with 26 inches face 
and 15 inches thick at one end and 14 wide and 
12 thick at the other, one of Nature's own handi- 
work, as if made for this very purpose, to stand 
on the top of the mountains for the centuries to 
come' to perpetuate the memory of the genera- 
tions that have passed. I think it is granite 
formation, but is mixed with quartz at large end 
and very hard. Replaced three shoes on the 
Twist ox and one on Dave immediately after 
dinner and hitched the oxen to Mr. Halter's 
wagon, and with the help of four men loaded the 
stone, after having dragged it on the ground and 
rocks a hundred yards or so down the mountain 
side; estimated weight, 1,000 pounds. 

"Camp No. 79, June 23. Remained here in 
camp while inscribing the monument. There be- 
ing no stone cutter here, the clerk of the store 



136 



THE OX TEAM OR 



formed the letters on stiff paste boards and then cut- 
out to make a paper stencil, after which the shape of 
the letters was transferred to the stone by crayon 
marks. The letters were then cut with the cold 
chisel deep enough to make a permanent inscription. 
The stone is so very hard that it required steady 




work all day to cut the twenty letters and figures, 
'The Old Oregon Trail, 1843-57/ 

"Camp 80, June 24, odometer 970%. At 3:00 
o'clock this afternoon erected the monument de- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 137 

scribed on previous page on the summit of the 
South Pass at a point on the Trail described by 
John Linn, civil engineer, as 42.21 north latitude, 
108.53 west longitude, bearing N. 47, E. 240, feet 
from the *4 corner between sections 4 and 5, T. 
27 N., E. 101 W. of the 6th P. M. Elevation as 
determined by aneroid reading June 24, 1906, is 
7450. 

"Mr. Linn informs me the survey for an irri- 
gation ditch to take the waters of the Sweetwater 
river from the east slope of the range, through 
the South Pass, to the west side, runs within a 
hundred feet of the monument." 

"We drove out of Pacific Springs at 12:30, 
stopped at the summit to dedicate the monument 
(see illustration), and at 3:40 left the summit 
and drove twelve miles to this point, called Ore- 
gon Slough, and put up the tent after dark." 

The reader may think of the South Pass of the 
Rocky mountains as a precipitous defile through 
narrow canyons and deep gorges, but nothing is 
farther from the facts than such imagined condi- 
tions. One can drive through this pass for sev- 
eral miles without realizing he has passed the 
dividing line between the waters of the Pacific 
on the one side and of the Gulf of Mexico on the 



138 



THE OX TEAM OR 



other, while traveling over a broad, open, undu- 
lating prairie the approach to which is by easy 
grades and the descent (going east) scarcely 
noticeable. 

Certainly, if my memory is worth anything, in 
1852, some of our party left the road but a short 
distance to find banks of drifted snow in low 
places in July, but none was in sight on the level 
of the road as we came along in June of 1906. 
This was one of the landmarks that looked fa- 
miliar, as all who were toiling west looked upon 
this spot as the turning point in their journey, 
and that they had left the worst of the trip be- 
hind them, — poor, innocent souls as we were, 
not realizing that our mountain climbing in the 
way of rough roads only began a long way out 
west of the summit of the Rockies. 



THE OLD OKEGON TRAIL 139 



CHAPTER XVI. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

SWEETWATER. 

THE sight of Sweetwater river, twenty miles 
out from the Pass, revived many pleasant 
memories and some sad. I could remember the 
sparkling, clear water, the green skirt of under- 
growth along the banks and the restful camps as 
we trudged along up the stream so many years 
ago. And now I see the same channel, the same 
hills, and apparently the same waters swiftly 
passing; but where are the campflres; where the 
herds of gaunt cattle ; where the sound of the din 
of bells; the hallowing for lost children; the 
cursing of irate ox drivers; the pleading for 
mercy from some humane dame for the half-fam- 
ished dumb brute; the harsh sounds from some 
violin in camp; the merry shout of thoughtless 
children ; or the little groups off on the hillside to 
bury the dead? All gone. An oppressive silence 
prevailed as we drove down to the river and 
pitched camp within a few feet of the bank where 



140 



THE OX TEAM OR 



we could hear the rippling waters passing and see 
the fish leaping in the eddies. We had our choice 
of a camping place just by the skirt of refreshing 
green brush with an opening to give full view of 
the river. Not so in '52 with hundreds of camps 
ahead of you. One must take what he could get, 
and that in many cases would be far back from 
the water and removed from other conveniences. 
The sight and smell of the carrion so common 
in camping places in our first trip was gone; no 
bleached bones even showed where the exhausted 
dumb brute had died; the graves of the dead emi- 
grants had all been leveled by the hoofs of stock 
and the lapse of time. "What a mighty change !" 
I exclaimed. We had been following the old Trail 
for nearly 150 miles on the west slope of the 
mountains with scarce a vestige of civilization. 
Out of sight and hearing of railroads, telegraphs, 
or telephones and nearly a hundred miles with- 
out a postoffice. It is a misnomer to call it a 
"slope." It is nearly as high an altitude a hun- 
dred miles west of the summit as the summit it- 
self. The country remains as it was fifty-four 
years before. The Trail is there to be seen miles 
and miles ahead, worn bare and deep, with but 
one narrow track where there used to be a dozen, 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 141 

and with the beaten path so solid that vegetation 
has not yet recovered from the scourge of pass- 
ing hoofs and tires of wagon years ago. 

Like as in 1852 when the summit was passed I 
felt that my task was much more than half done, 
though the distance was scarcely half compassed. 
I felt we were entitled to a rest even though it 
was a solitude, and so our preparations were 
made for two days' rest if not recreation. The 
two days passed and we saw but three persons. 
We traveled a week on this stretch, to encounter 
five persons only, and to see but one wagon, but 
our guide to point the way was at hand all the 
time — a pioneer way a hundred feet wide and in 
places ten feet deep, we could not mistake. Our 
way from this Camp No. 81 on Sweetwater led 
us from the river and over hills for fifty miles 
before we were back to the river again. Not so 
my Trail of '52, for then we followed the river 
closer and crossed it several times, while part of 
the people went over the hills and made the sec- 
ond trail. It was on this last stretch we set our 
1,000 mile post as we reached nearly the summit 
of a very long hill, eighteen miles west of where 
we again encountered the river, saw a telegraph 
line, and a road where more than one wagon a 



142 THE OX TEAM OR 

week passed as like that we had been following 
so long. 

SPLIT ROCK. 

I quote from my journal: 

"Camp No. 85, June 30, odometer 1,044. 

"About 10 :00 o'clock encountered a large num- 
ber of big flies that' ran the cattle nearly wild. 
We fought them off as best we could. I stood on 
the wagon tongue for miles so I could reach them 
with the whip stock. The cattle were so excited, 
we did not stop at noon, finding water on the 
way, but drove on through by 2 :30 and camped 
for the day at a farm house, the Split Rock post- 
office, the first we had found since leaving Pacific 
Springs, the other side the summit of South Pass 
and eighty-five miles distant. " 

"Split Rock" postoffice derives its name from 
a rift in the mountain a thousand feet or more 
high, as though a part of the range had been 
bodily moved a rod or so, leaving this perpen- 
dicular chasm through the range, which was nar- 
row. This is the first farmhouse we have seen, 
and near by the first attempt at farming this side 
(east) of the Rocky mountains. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 143 



CHAPTEE XVII. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

THE DEVIL'S GATE. 

THE Devil's Gate (see illustration, page 144) 
and Independence Rock a few miles dis- 
tant are probably the two best known landmarks 
on the Trail, — the one for its grotesque and strik- 
ing scenic effect. Here, as at Split Rock, the 
mountain seems as if it had been split apart, leav- 
ing an opening a few rods wide and nearly five 
hundred feet high, through which the Sweetwater 
river pours as a veritable torrent. The river first 
approaches to within a few hundred feet of the 
gap, and then suddenly curves away from it, and 
after winding through the valley for half a mile 
or so, a quarter of a mile distant, it takes a 
straight shoot and makes the plunge through the 
canyon. Those who have had the impression they 
drove their teams through this gap are simply 
mistaken, for it 's a feat no mortal man has done 
or can do, no more than they could drive up the 
falls of the Niagara, 
10 




DEVIL S GATE 



THB OLD OREGON TRAIL 145 

This year, on my 1906 trip I did clamber 
through on the left bank, over boulders head high, 
under shelving rocks where the sparrows' nests 
were in full possession, and ate some ripe wild 
gooseberries from the bushes growing on the bor- 
der of the river, and plucked some beautiful wild 
roses, this on the 2d day of July, A.D. 1906. I 
wonder why those wild roses grow there where 
nobody will see them? Why these sparrows' 
nests? Why did this river go through this gorge 
instead of breaking the barrier a little to the 
south where the easy road runs? These ques- 
tions run through my mind, and why I know not. 
The gap through the mountains looked familiar 
as I spied it from the distance, but the road-bed 
to the right I had forgotten. I longed to see this 
place, for here, somewhere under the sands, lies 
all that was mortal of a brother, Clark Meeker, 
drowned in the Sweetwater in 1854 while at- 
tempting to cross the Plains ; would I be able to 
see and identify the grave? No. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Camp No. 86, July 2, odometer 1,059. This 
camp is at Tom Sun's place, the Sun postoffice, 
Wyoming, and is in S. 35, T. 29 N., R. 87, 6 P. M. 
and it is one-half mile to the upper end of the 



146 THE OX TEAM OE 

Devil's Gate (see illustration, page 144), through 
which the Sweetwater runs. The passage is not 
more than 100 feet wide and is 1,300 feet through 
with Avails 483 feet at highest point. The altitude 
is 5,860.27, according to the United States geo- 
logical survey marks. It is one of nature's mar- 
vels, this rift in the mountain to let the waters of 
the Sweetwater through. Mr. Tom Sun, or 
Thompson, has lived here thirty-odd years and 
says there are numerous graves of the dead pio- 
neers, but all have been leveled by the tramp of 
stock, 225,000 of cattle alone having passed over 
the Trail in 1882 and in some single years over 
half a million sheep. But the Trail is deserted 
now/' and scarcely five wagons pass in a week 
with part of the road-bed grown up in grass. 
That mighty movement, tide shall we call it, of 
suffering humanity first going west, accom- 
panied and afterwards followed by hun- 
dreds of thousands of stock, with the mightier 
ebb of millions upon millions of returning cattle 
and sheep going east, has all ceased, and now 
the road is a solitude save a few struggling wag- 
ons, or here and there a local flock driven to pas- 
ture. Small wonder we look in vain for the 
graves of the dead with this great throng passing 
and repassing. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 147 

A pleasant little anecdote is told by his neigh- 
bors of the odd name of "Tom Sun," borne by 
that sturdy yeoman (a Swede, I think) whose 
fame for fair dealing and liberality I could hear 
of upon all sides. The story runs that when he 
first went to the bank, then and now sixty miles 
away to deposit, the cashier asked his name and 
received the reply Thompson, emphasizing the 
last syllable pronounced with so much emphasis, 
that it was written Tom Sun and from necessity 
a check had to be so signed. The name became 
generally known as such and finally a postofflce 
was named after it. 






148 THE OX TEAM OR 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

INDEPENDENCE ROOK. 

"Camp No. 87, July 3, 1906, odometer 1,065, 
Independence Bock. We drove over to the 'Rock/ 
from the 'Devil's Gate/ a distance of six miles, 
and camped at 10 :00 o'clock for the day. 

"Not being conversant with the work done by 
others to perpetuate their names on this famous 
boulder that covers nearly forty acres and is a 
mile around it, we groped our way among the 
inscriptions to find most of them nearly obliter- 
ated and many legible only in part, showing how 
impotent the efforts of individuals to perpetuate 
the memory of their own names, and, may I not 
add, how foolish it is, in most cases, forgetting 
as these individuals have, that it is actions, not 
words, even if engraved upon stone, that carry 
one's name down to future generations. We 
walked all the way around the stone, which, as I 
have said, was nearly a mile around, of irregular 
shape, and about one hundred feet high, the walls 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 149 

being so precipitous as to prevent ascending to 
the top except in a couple of vantage points. 
Unfortunately, we missed the Fremont inscrip- 
tion made in 1842." 

Of this inscription Fremont writes in his 
journal : 

"August 23 (1842), yesterday evening we 
reached our encampment at Rock Independence, 
where I took some astronomical observations. 
Here, not unmindful of the custom of early trav- 
elers and explorers in our country, I engraved 
on this rock of the Far West a symbol of the 
Christian faith. Among the thickly inscribed 
names, I made on the hard granite the impression 
of a large cross, which I covered with a black 
preparation of India rubber, well calculated to 
resist the influence of wind and rain. It stands 
amidst the names of many who have long since 
found their way to the grave, and for whom the 
huge rock is a giant gravestone. 

"One George Weymouth was sent out to Maine 
by the Earl of Southampton, Lord Arundel, and 
others; and in the narrative of their discoveries 
he says : 'The next day, we ascended in our pin- 
nace that part of the river which lies more to the 
westward, carrying with us a cross — a thing 



150 THE OX TEAM OB 

never omitted by any Christian traveler — which 
we erected at the ultimate end of our route/ 
This was in the year 1605 ; and in 1842 I obeyed 
the feeling of early travelers, and left the impres- 
sion of the cross deeply engraved on the vast 
rock 1,000 miles beyond the Mississippi, to which 
discoverers have given the national name of Rock 
Independence" 

The reader will note that Fr6mont writes in 
1842 of the name, "to which discoverers have 
given the national name of Independence Rock," 
showing that the naming of the Rock long ante- 
dated his visit, as he had inscribed the cross 
"amidst the names of many." 

Of recent years the traveled road leads to the 
left of the Rock, going eastward, instead of to 
the right and nearer the left bank of the Sweet- 
water, as in early years; and so I selected a spot 
on the westward sloping face of the stone for the 
inscription, "Old Oregon Trail, 1843-57," near 
the present traveled road where people can see 
it, as shown in the illustration, and inscribed it 
with as deep cut letters as we could make with a 
dulled cold chisel, and painted the sunken letters 
with the best of sign writers' paint in oil. On 
this expedition, where possible, 1 have in like 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 



151 



manner inscribed a number of boulders, with 
paint only, which, it is to be hoped, before the 




INDEPENDENCE ROCK. 



life of the paint has gone out, may find loving 
hands to inscribe deep into the stone; but here 



152 THE OX TEAM OB 

on this huge boulder I hope the inscription may 
last for centuries, though not as deeply cut as I 
would have liked had we but had suitable tools. 

FISH CREEK. 

Eleven miles out from Independence Rock we 
nooned on the bank of a small stream, well 
named Fish creek, for it literally swarmed with 
fish of suitable size for the pan, but they would 
not bite, and we had no appliances for catching 
with a net, and so consoled ourselves with the 
exclamation they were suckers only, and we 
did n't care, but I came away with the feeling 
that maybe we were "suckers" ourselves for hav- 
ing wet a blanket in the attempt to seine them, 
got into the water over boot top deep, and worked 
all the noon hour instead of resting as like an 
elderly person should and as like the oxen did. 

NORTH PLATTE RIVER. 

Our next camp brought us to the North Platte 
river, fifteen miles above the town of Casper. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Camp No. 89, North Platte river, July 5, 1906, 
odometer 1,104, distance traveled twenty-two 
miles. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 153 

"We followed the old Trail till near 4 :00 p.m. 
and then came to the forks of the traveled road, 
with the Trail untraveled by any one going 
straight ahead between the two roads. I took 
the right-hand road, fearing the other led off too 
far north, and anyway the one taken would lead 
us to the North Platte river; and on the old Trail 
there would be no water, as we were informed, 
until we reached Casper. We did not arrive at 
the Platte river until after dark, and then found 
there was no feed; got some musty alfalfa hay 
the cattle would not eat; had a little cracked 
corn we had hauled nearly 300 miles from Kem- 
merer, and had fed them the last of it in the after- 
noon; went to bed in the wagon, first watering 
the cattle, after dark, from the North Platte, 
which I had not seen for over fifty-four years, as 
I had passed fifteen miles below here the last of 
June, 1852. 

"Several times during the afternoon there were 
threatening clouds, accompanied by distant light- 
ning, and at one time a black cloud in the center, 
with rapid moving clouds around it made me 
think of a tornado, but finally disappeared with- 
out striking us. Heavy wind at night. 



154 THE OX TEAM OB 

"This afternoon as we were driving, with both 
in the wagon, William heard the rattles of a 
snake, and jumped out of the wagon and thought- 
lessly called the dog. I stopped the wagon and 
called the dog away from the reptile until it was 
killed. When stretched out it measured four feet 
eight inches, and had eight rattles. 

CASPER, WYOMING. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Camp No. 90, odometer 1,117%, Casper, Wy- 
oming, July 6. At the noon hour, while eating 
dinner, seven miles out, we heard the whistle of 
the locomotive, something we had neither seen 
nor heard for nearly 300 miles. As soon as lunch 
was over I left the wagon and walked in ahead of 
the team to select camping ground, secure feed, 
and get the mail ; received twenty letters, several 
from home. 

"Fortunately a special meeting of the commer- 
cial club was held this evening, and I laid the 
matter of building a monument before them, with 
the usual result: they resolved to build one and 
opened the subscription at once, and appointed a 
committee to carry the work forward. I am as- 
sured by several prominent citizens that a $500 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 155 

monument will be erected," as the city council 
will join with the club to provide for a fountain 
as well, and place it on the most public street- 
crossing of the city. 

Glen Rock was the next place in our itinerary, 
which we reached at dark, after having driven 
twenty-five and one-fourth miles. This is the 
longest drive we have made on the whole trip. 

GLEN ROCK. 

Glen Rock is a small village, but the ladies met 
and resolved they "would have as nice a monu- 
ment as Casper," even if it did not cost as much, 
because there was a stone quarry out but six 
miles from town. One enthusiastic lady said 
"we will inscribe it ourselves, if no stone cutter 
can be had." " 'Where there 's a will there 's a 
way/ as the old adage runs," I said as we left the 
nice little burg and said good-bye to the energetic 
ladies in it. God bless the women anyhow; I 
do n't see how the world could get along without 
them ; and anyway I do n't see what life would 
have been to me without that little faithful com- 
panion that came over this very same ground 
with me fifty-four years ago and still lives to re- 
joice for the many, many blessings vouchsafed to 
us and our descendants. 



156 THE OX TEAM 01 

DOUGLAS, WYOMING. 

At Douglas, Wyoming, 1,177^ miles out from 
The Dalles, the people at first seemed reluctant 
to assume the responsibility of erecting a monu- 
ment, everybody being "too busy" to give up any 
time to it, but were willing to contribute. After 
a short canvass, f 52 was contributed, a local com- 
mittee appointed, and an organized effort to erect 
a monument was well in hand before we drove 
out of the town. 

I here witnessed one of those heavy downpours 
like some I remember in '52, where, as in this 
case, the water came down in veritable sheets 
and in an incredibly short time turned all the 
slopes into roaring torrents and level places into 
lakes ; the water ran six inches deep in the streets 
in this case, on a very heavy grade the whole 
width of the street. 

I quote from my journal : 

"Camp No. 95, July 12, odometer 1,192. We 
are camped under the shade of a group of balm 
trees in the Platte bottom near the bridge at the 
farm of a company, Dr. J. M. Wilson in charge, 
where we found a good vegetable garden and 
were bidden to help ourselves, which I did, with 
a liberal hand, to a feast of young onions, rad- 
ishes, beets, and lettuce enough for several days." 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 157 

PUYALLUP— TAOOMA— SEATTLE. 

This refreshing shade and these spreading 
balms carried me back to the little cabin home 
in the Puyallup valley, 1,500 miles away, where 
we had for so long a period enjoyed the cool 
shades of the native forests, enlivened by the 
charms of songsters at peep of day, with the drip- 
ping dew off the leaves like as if a shower had 
fallen over the forest. Having now passed the 
1,200-mile mark out from The Dalles, with 
scarcely the vestige of timber life, except in the 
snows of the Blue mountains, one can not wonder 
that my mind should run back to not only the 
little cabin home as well as to the more preten- 
tious residence near by; to the time when our 
homestead of 160 acres, granted us by this great 
government of the people, was a dense forest; 
when the little clearing was so isolated we could 
see naught else but walls of timber around us; 
timber that required the labor of one man twelve 
years to remove it off a quarter section of land; 
of the time when trails only reached the spot; 
when, as the poet wrote, 

"Oxen answered well for team, 
Though now they'd be too slow;" 

when the semimonthly mail was eagerly looked 



158 THE OX TEAM OR 

for; when the Tribune would be reread again and 
again before the new supply came; when the 
morning hours before breakfast were our only 
school hours for the children ; when the home- 
made shoe pegs and the home-shaped shoe lasts 
answered for making and mending the shoes, and 
the home-saved bristle for the waxed end; when 
the Indians, if not our nearest neighbors, I had 
liked to have said our best; when the meat in 
the barrel and the flour in the box, in spite of the 
most strenuous efforts, would at times run low; 
when the time for labor would be much nearer 
eighteen than eight hours a day. 

"Supper" Supper is ready; and when re- 
peated in more imperative tones, I at last awake 
to inhale the fragrant flavors of that most deli- 
cious beverage, camp coffee, from the Mocha and 
Java mixed grain that had "just come to a boil," 
and to realize there was something else in the air 
when the bill of fare was scanned. 

MENU. 

Calf s liver, fried crisp, with bacon. 
Coffee, with cream, and a lump of butter added. 
Lettuce, with vinegar and sugar. 
Young onions. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 159 

Boiled young carrots. 
Radishes. 

Beets, covered with vinegar. 
Cornmeal mush, cooked forty minutes, in re- 
serve and for a breakfast fry. 

These "delicacies of the season," coupled with 
the — what shall I call it? — delicious appetite in- 
cident to a strenuous day's travel and a late sup- 
per hour, without a dinner padding in the stom- 
ach, aroused me to a sense of the necessities of 
the inner man, and to that keen relish incident 
to prolonged exertion and an open-air life, and 
justice was meted out to the second meal of the 
day following a 5:00 o'clock breakfast. 

T awoke also to the fact that I was on the spot 
near where I had camped fifty-four years ago in 
this same Platte valley, then apparently almost 
a desert. Now what do I see? As we drew into 
camp two mowing machines cutting the alfalfa; 
two or more teams raking the cured hay to the 
rick, and a huge fork or rake at intervals climb- 
ing the steep incline of fenders to above the top 
of the rick, and depositing its equivalent of a 
wagon-load at a time. To my right, as we drove 
through the gate the large garden looked tempt- 
ingly near, as did some rows of small fruit. Hay 

11 



160 THE OX TEAM OR 

ricks dotted tb* field, and outhouses, barns, and 
dwellings at the home. We are in the midst of 
plenty and the guests, we may almost say, of 
friends, instead of feeling we must deposit the 
trusted rifle in convenient place while we eat. 
Yes, we will exclaim again, "What wondrous 
changes time has wrought!" 

But my mind will go back to the little ivy- 
covered cabin now so carefully preserved in Pio- 
neer Park in the little pretentious city of Pu- 
yallup, that was once our homestead, and so long 
our home, and where the residence still stands 
near by. The timber is all gone and in its place 
brick blocks and pleasant, modest homes are 
found; w r here the roots and stumps once occupied 
the ground now smiling fruit gardens adorn the 
landscape and fill the purses of 400 fruit grow- 
ers, and supply the wants of 4,000 people. In- 
stead of the slow, trudging ox team, driven to the 
market town sixteen miles distant, with a day in 
camp on the way, I see fifty-four railroad trains 
a day thundering through the town. I see elec- 
tric lines with crowded cars carrying passengers 
to tide water and to that rising city of Tacoma, 
but seven miles distant. I see a quarter of a 
million people within a radius of thirty miles, 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 161 

where solitude reigned supreme fifty-four years 
ago, save the song of the Indians, the thump of 
his canoe paddle, or the din of his gambling rev- 
els. When I go down to the Sound I see a mile 
of shipping docks where before the waters rip- 
pled over a pebbly beach filled with shell fish. I 
look farther, and see hundreds of steamers plying 
hither and yon on the great inland sea, where 
fifty-four years ago the Indian's canoe only noise- 
lessly skimmed the water. I see hundreds of sail 
vessels that whiten every sea of the globe, being 
either towed here and there or at dock, receiving 
or discharging cargo, where before scarce a dozen 
had in a year ventured the voyage. At the docks 
of Seattle I see the 28,000-ton steamers receiving 
their monster cargoes for the Orient, and am re- 
minded that these monsters can enter any of the 
numerous harbors of Puget Sound and are sup- 
plemented by a great array of other steam ton- 
nage contending for that vast across-sea trade, 
and again exclaim with greater wonderment 
than ever, '<What wondrous changes time has 
wrought !" If I look through the channels of 
Puget Sound, I yet see the forty islands or more ; 
its sixteen hundred miles of shore line; its schools 
of fish, and at intervals the seal ; its myriads of 



162 THE OX TEAM OB 

sea gulls; the hawking crow; the clam beds; the 
ebb and flow of the tide, still there. But many 
happy homes dot the shore line where the dense 
forests stood; the wild fruits have given way to 
the cultivated; train-loads of fruit go out to dis- 
tant markets; and what we once looked upon 
as barren land now gives plenteous crops; 
and we again exclaim, "What wondrous changes 
time has wrought," or shall we not say, 
"What wondrous changes the hand of man has 
wrought !" 

But I am admonished I have wandered and 
must needs get back to our narrative 1852-1906. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 163 



CHAPTER XIX. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

FORT LARAMIE, WYOMING. 

I QUOTE from my journal : 
"Camp No. 99, July 16, Fort Laramie, odom- 
eter 1,247. From the time we crossed the Mis- 
souri in May, 1852, until we arrived opposite this 
place on the north bank of the Platte, no place or 
name was so universally in the minds of the emi- 
grants as old Fort Laramie; here, we eagerly 
looked for letters that never came — maybe our 
friends and relatives had not written ; maybe they 
had and the letter lost or dumped somewhere in 
'The States'; but now all hope vanished to hear 
from home till the long journey was ended and 
a missive reach us by the Isthmus or maybe by a 
sail vessel around Cape Horn. Now, as I write, 
I know my letter written in the morning will at 
night be on the banks of the great river, and so 
for each day of the year. One never ceases to ex- 
claim, 'What changes time has wrought V What 
wondrous changes in these fifty-four years, since 



164 THE OX TEAM OR 

I first set foot on the banks of the Platte and 
looked longingly across the river for the letter 
that never came. 

"This morning at 4 :30 the alarm sounded, but 
in spite of our strenuous efforts the start was 
delayed till 6:15. Conditions were such as to 
give us a hot day, but the cattle would not travel 
without eating the grass in the road, having for 
some cause not liked the grass they were on dur- 
ing the night, and so, after driving a couple of 
miles and finding splendid feed, we turned them 
out to fill up, which they speedily did, and there- 
after became laggards, too lazy for anything. So 
after all we did not arrive here till 4 :00, and with 
dinner at six small wonder if we had good 
appetites. 

"Locally it is difficult to get accurate informa- 
tion. All agree there is no vestige of the old 
Traders Camp or the first United States Port 
left, but disagree as to its location. The new 
fort (not a fort, but an encampment) covers a 
space of thirty or forty acres with all sorts of 
buildings and ruins, from the old barracks, three 
hundred feet long, in good preservation and oc- 
cupied by the present owner, Joseph Wild, as a 
store, postoffice, saloon, hotel, and family resi- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 165 

dence, to the old guard-house with its grim iron 
door and twenty-inch concrete walls. One frame 
building, two stories, we are told, was trans- 
ported from Kansas City at a cost of $100 per ton 
freight by ox teams. There seems to be no plan 
either in the arrangements of the buildings or of 
the buildings themselves. I noticed one building, 
part stone, part concrete, part adobe, and part 
of burnt brick. The concrete walls of one build- 
ing measured twenty-two inches thick and there 
is evidence of the use of lime with a lavish hand, 
and I think all of them are alike massive. 

"The location of the barracks is in Sec. 28, T. 
26 N., E. 64 W. of 6th P. M., United States 
^ survey." 

SCOTTSBLUFF. 

We drove out from the town of Scottsbluff to 
the left bank of the North Platte, less than a mile 
from the town, to a point nearly opposite that 
noted landmark, Scotts Bluff, on the right bank, 
looming up near eight hundred feet above the 
river and adjoining green fields, and photo- 
graphed the bluffs and section of the river. 

Probably no emigrant of early days but re- 
members Scottsbluff, which could be seen for so 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 167 

long a distance, and yet apparently so near for 
days and days, till it finally sank out of sight as 
we passed on, and new objects came into view. 
Like as with Turtle Rock (see illustration) the 
formation is sand and clay cemented, yet soft 
enough to cut easily, and is constantly changing 
in smaller details. 

We certainly saw Scottsbluff while near the 
junction of the two rivers, over a hundred miles 
distant, in that illusive phenomenon, the mirage, 
as plainly as when within a few miles of it. 

Speaking of this deceptive manifestation of 
one natural law, I am led to wonder why, on 
the trip of 1906, I have seen nothing of those 
sheets of water so real as to be almost within our 
grasp yet never reached, those hills and valleys 
we never traversed, beautiful pictures on the 
horizon and sometimes above, while traversing 
the valley in 1852; all gone, perhaps to be seen 
no more, as climatic changes come to destroy the 
conditions that caused them. Perhaps this may 
in part be caused by the added humidity of the 
atmosphere, or it may be also in part because of 
the numerous groves of timber that now adorn 
the landscape. Whatever the cause, the fact re- 
mains that in the year of 1852 the mirage was of 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 169 

common occurrence and now, if seen at all, is 
rare. 

The origin of the name of Scottsbluff is not 
definitely known, but as tradition runs, "a trader 
named Scott, while returning to the states, was 
robbed and stripped by the Indfens. He crawled 
to these bluffs and there famished, and his bones 
were afterwards found and buried," these quoted 
words having been written by a passing emigrant 
on the spot, June 11, 1852. As I passed, stories 
were told me of same import but shifting the 
time to 1866. 

THE DEAD OF THE PLAINS. 

From the "Bluffs" we drove as direct as pos- 
sible to that historic grave, two miles out from 
the town and on the railroad right of way, of 
Mrs. Rebecca Winters, who died August 15, 1852, 
nearly six weeks after I had passed over the 
ground. But for the handiwork of some un- 
known friend or relative, this grave, like thou- 
sands and thousands of others who fell by the 
wayside in those strenuous days, this grave would 
have passed out of sight and mind and nestled 
in solitude and unknown for all ages to come. 
As far back as the memory of the oldest inhabi- 



170 THE OX TEAM OB 

tant runs a half sunken wagon tire bore this 
simple inscription, "Rebecca Winters, aged 50 
years." The hoofs of stock trampled the sunken 
grave and trod it into dust, but the arch of the 
tire remained to defy the strength of thoughtless 
hands who would have removed it, and of the 
ravages of time that seemed not to have affected 
it. Finally, in "the lapse of time," that usually 
non-respecter of persons — the railroad survey — 
and afterward the rails came along and would 
have run the track over the lonely grave but for 
the tender care of the man who wielded the com- 
pass and changed the line, that the resting place 
of the pioneer should not be disturbed, followed 
by the noble impulse of him who wielded the 
power of control of the "soulless" corporation, 
and the grave was protected and enclosed. Then 
came the press correspondent and the press to 
herald to the world the pathos of the lone grave, 
to in time reach the eyes and to touch the hearts 
of the descendants of the dead, who had almost 
passed out of memory and to quicken the interest 
in the memory of one once dear to them, till in 
time there arose a beautiful monument lovingly 
inscribed, just one hundred years after the birth 
of the inmate of the grave. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 171 

As I looked upon this grave, now surrounded 
by green fields and happy homes, my mind ran 
back to the time it was first occupied in the des- 
ert, as all believed the country through which we 
were passing to be, and of the awful calamity that 
overtook so many to carry them to their untimely 
and unknown graves. The ravages of cholera 
had carried off thousands. One family of seven 
a little further down the Platte lie all in one 
grave ; forty-one persons of one train dead in one 
day and two nights tells but part of the dreadful 
story. The count of fifty-three freshly made 
graves in one camp ground left a vivid impress 
upon my mind that has never been effaced, but 
where now are those graves? They are now ir- 
revocably lost. I can recall to mind one point 
where seventy were buried in one little group, 
not one of the graves now to be seen — trampled 
out of sight by the hoofs of the millions of stock 
later passing over the Trail. Bearing this in 
mind, how precious this the memory of even one 
grave rescued from oblivion, and how precious 
will become the memory of the deeds of those 
who have so freely dedicated their part to re- 
freshen the memory of the past and to honor 
those sturdy pioneers who survived, as well as 






e \jf 




I 



1 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 173 

the dead, by erecting those monuments that now 
line the Trail for nearly two thousand miles. To 
these, one and all, I bow my head in grateful 
memory of their aid in this work to perpetuate 
the memory of the pioneers and especially the 
3,000 school children who have each contributed 
their mite that the memory of the dead pioneers 
might remain fresh in their minds and the minds 
of generations to follow. 

A drive of seventeen miles brought us to the 
town of Bayard, 1,338 miles on the way from The 
Dalles, Oregon, where our continuous drive 
began. 

CHIMNEY ROCK. 

Chimney Rock is six miles southwesterly in 
full view, a curious freak of nature we all re- 
member while passing in '52. 

The base reminds one of an umbrella standing 
on the ground, covering perhaps twelve acres and 
running, cone-shaped, 200 feet to the base of the 
spire resting upon it. The spire (chimney) 
points to the heavens, which would entitle the 
pile to a more appropriate name, as like a church 
spire (see illustration), tall and slim, the 
wonder of all — how it comes the hand of time 
has not leveled it long ago and mingled its cruin- 



174 THE OX TEAM OE 

bling substance with that lying at its base. The 
whole pile, like that at Scottsbluff and Court 
House Eock further down, is a sort of soft sand- 
stone, or cement and clay, gradually crumbling 
away and destined to be leveled to the earth in 
centuries to come. 

A local story runs that an army officer trained 
artillery on this spire, shot off about thirty feet 
of the top, and was afterwards court-martialed 
and discharged in disgrace from the army; but 
I could get no definite information, though re- 
peated again and again. It would seem incred- 
ible that an intelligent man, such as an army 
officer, would do such an act, and if he did he 
deserved severe condemnation and punishment. 

I noticed that at Soda Springs the hand of the 
vandal had been at work, and that interesting 
phenomenon, the Steamboat Spring, the wonder- 
ment of all in 1852, with its intermittent spout- 
ing, had been tampered with and ceased to act. 
It would seem the degenerates were not all dead 
yet. 

NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA. 

At North Platte the ladies of the W. C. T. U. 
appointed a committee to undertake to erect a 
monument, the business men all refusing to give 






THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 175 

up any time. However, W. C. Ritner, a respected 
citizen of North Platte, offered to donate a hand- 
some monument of cement base, marble cap, 
stone and cement column, five and a half feet 
high, which will be accepted by the ladies and 
erected in a suitable place. 



176 THE OX TEAM OB 

CHAPTER XX. 

Obituary Notice. 
DEATH OF TWIST. 

<C/^\LD Oregon Trail Monument Expedition, 
vJ Brady Island, Neb., Aug. 9, 1906, Camp 
No. 120, odometer 1,536%. Yesterday morning 
Twist ate his grain as usual and showed no signs 
of sickness until we were on the road two or three 
miles, when he began to put his tongue out and 
his breathing became heavy. But he leaned on 
the yoke heavier than usual and seemed deter- 
mined to pull the whole load. I finally stopped, 
put him on the off side, gave him the long end of 
the yoke and tied his head back with the halter 
strap to the chain, but to no purpose, for he 
pulled by the head very heavy. I finally unyoked, 
gave him a quart of lard, a gill of vinegar, and a 
handful of sugar, but all to no purpose, for he 
soon fell down and in two hours was dead." 

Such is the record in my journal telling of the 
death of this noble animal, who I think died from 
eating some poisonous plant. 

"When we started from Camp No. 1, January 
29, Puyallup, Washington, Twist weighed 1,470 



THE OLD OEEGON TRAIL 177 

pounds. After we had crossed two ranges of 
mountains, had wallowed in the snows of the 
Blue mountains, followed the tortuous rocky 
canyons of Burnt river, up the deep sand of the 
Snake, this ox had gained in weight 137 pounds, 
and weighed 1,607 pounds while laboring under 
the short end of the yoke that gave him fifty-five 
per cent of the draft and an increased burden he 
would assume by keeping his end of the yoke a 
little ahead, no matter how much the mate might 
be urged to keep up. 

"There are striking individualities in animals 
as well as in men, and I had liked to have said 
virtues as well; and why not? If an animal al- 
ways does his duty; is faithful to your interest; 
industrious — why not call it by the right name, 
even if he was 'nothing but an ox?' 

"We are wont to extol the virtue of the dead 
and to forget their shortcomings, but here a plain 
statement of facts will suffice to revive the mem- 
ories of the almost forgotten past of a type so 
dear to the pioneers who struggled across Plains 
and over mountains in the long ago. 

"To understand the achievements of this ox it 
is necessary to state the burden he carried. The 
wagon weighed 1,430 pounds, is a wooden axle 



178 THE OX TEAM OB 

and wide track with an average load of 800 
pounds. He had, with an unbroken four-year- 
old steer, — a natural-born shirk — with the short 
end of the yoke before mentioned, hauled this 
wagon 1,776 miles and was in better working 
trim when he died than when the trip began. 
And yet, am I sure that at some points I did not 
abuse him? What about coming up out of Little 
Canyon over, or rather up the steep rocky steps 
of stones like veritable stairs, when I used the 
goad, and he pulled a shoe off and his feet from 
under him? Was I merciful then or did I exact 
more than I ought? I can see him yet in my 
mind, while on his knees holding the wagon from 
rolling back into the canyon till the wheel could 
be blocked and the brakes set. Then when bid 
to start the load, he did not flinch. He was the 
best ox I ever saw, without exception, and his 
loss has nearly broken up the expedition, and it 
is one case where his like can not be replaced. 
He has had a decent burial, and a head-board 
will mark his grave and recite his achievements 
in the valuable aid rendered in this expedition 
to perpetuate the memory of the old Oregon Trail 
and for which he has given up his life." 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 179 



CHAPTER XXI. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Continued. 

WHAT shall I do? Abandon the work? No. 
But I can not go on with one ox and can 
not in all this country find another, and I can 
not lay here. And so a horse team was hired to 
take us to the next town, Gothenburg — thirteen 
miles distant, and the lone ox led behind the 
wagon. 

GOTHENBURG, NEBRASKA. 

"Gothenburg, Nebraska, August 10, 1906, 
Camp No. 121, odometer 1,549. The people here 
resolved to erect a monument, appointed a com- 
mittee, and some fifteen dollars contribution was 
secured. 

LEXINGTON. 

Again hired a horse team to haul the wagon 
to Lexington. At Lexington I thought to re- 
pair the loss of the ox by buying a pair of heavy 
cows and breaking them into work, and so 
purchased two out of a band of 200 cattle near 



180 



THE OX TEAM OE 



by. 'Why, yes, of course they will work/ I said, 
when a bystander had asked the question. 'Why, 
I have seen whole teams of cows on the Plains in 
'52, and they would trip along so merrily one 




BREAKING THE COWS. 



would be tempted to turn the oxen out and get 
cows. Yes, we will soon have a team/ I said, 
'only we can't go very far in a day with a raw 
team, especially in this hot weather.' But one 
of the cows would n't go at all ; we could not lead 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 181 

or drive her. Put her in the yoke and she would 
stand stock still just like a stubborn mule. Hitch 
the yoke by a strong rope behind the wagon with 
a horse team to pull, she would brace her feet 
and actually slide along, but would n't lift a foot. 
I never saw such a brute before, and hope I never 
will again. I have broken wild, fighting, kick- 
ing steers to the yoke and enjoyed the sport, but 
from a sullen tame cow deliver me. 

"Won't you take her back and give me an- 
other?" I asked. "Yes, I will give you that red 
cow (one 1 had rejected as unlit), but not one of 
the others." "Then what is this cow worth to 
you?" Back came the response, "Thirty dol- 
lars," and so I dropped ten dollars (having paid 
him forty), lost the better part of a day, expe- 
rienced a go«??I deal of vexation, and came away 
with the exclamation, "Oh, if I could but have 
Twist back again." 

The fact gradually dawned upon me the loss 
of that fine ox was almost irreparable. I could 
not get track of an ox anywhere nor of even a 
steer large enough to mate the Dave ox, the one 
I had left. Besides, Dave always was a fool. I 
could scarcely teach him anything. He did learn 
to haw, by the word when on the off side, but 



182 THE OX TEAM OR 

would n ? t mind the word a bit if on the near side. 
Then he would hold his head way up while in the 
yoke as if he disdained to work, and poke his 
tongue out at the least bit of warm weather or 
serious work. Then he did n't have the stamina 
of Twist. Although given the long end of the 
yoke, so that Twist would pull full fifty-five per 
cent of the load, yet he would always lag behind. 
Here was a case where the individuality of the 
ox was as marked as ever between man and man. 
Twist would watch my every motion and mind 
by the wave of the hand, but Dave never minded 
anything except to shirk hard work ; while Twist 
always seemed to love his work and would go 
freely all day. And so it was brought home to 
me more forcibly than ever that in the loss of 
the Twist ox I had almost lost the whole team. 

Now if this had occurred in 1852 the loss could 
have been easily remedied, where there were so 
many "broke" cattle and where there were al- 
ways several yoke to the wagon. So when I drove 
out with a hired horse team that day with the 
Dave ox tagging on behind and sometimes pull- 
ing on his halter, and an unbroken cow, it may 
easily be guessed the pride of anticipated success 
went out of me and a feeling almost akin to» 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 183 

despair seized upon me. Here I had two yokes, 
one a heavy ox yoke and the other a light cow's 
yoke, but the cow, I thought, could not be worked 
alongside the ox in the ox yoke, nor the ox with 
the cow in the cow yoke, and so there I was*with- 
out a team but with a double encumbrance. 

Yes, the ox has passed ; has had his day, for in 
all this state I have been unable to find even one 
yoke. So I trudged along, sometimes in the 
wagon and sometimes behind the led cattle, won- 
dering in my mind whether or no I had been fool- 
ish to undertake this expedition to perpetuate 
the memory of the old Oregon Trail. Had I not 
been rebuffed by a number of business men push- 
ing the subject aside with, "I have no time to 
look into it?" Had n't I been compelled to pass 
several towns where even three persons could not 
be found to act on the committee? And then 
there was the experience of the constant suspi- 
cion and watch to see if some graft could not be 
discovered; some lurking speculation. All this 
could be borne in patience, but when coupled 
with it came the virtual loss of the team, small 
wonder if my spirits went down below a normal 
condition. 



184 THE OX TEAM Oil 

But then came the compensatory thought as 
to what had been accomplished; how three states 
had responded cordially and a fourth as well, 
considering the sparse population. How could 
I account for the difference in the reception? It 
was the press. In the first place the newspapers 
took up the work in advance of my coming, while 
in the latter case the notices and commendation 
followed my presence in a town. And so I quer- 
ied in my mind as we trudged along, — after all, 
I am sowing the seed that will bring the harvest 
later. Then my mind would run back along the 
line of over 1,500 miles, where stand nineteen 
sentinels, mostly granite, to proclaim for the cen- 
turies to come that the hand of communities had 
been at work and planted these shafts that the 
memory of the dead pioneers might live; where 
a dozen boulders, including the great Independ- 
ence Bock, also bear this testimony, and where a 
hundred wooden posts mark the Trail where 
stone was unobtainable; the cordial reception in 
so many places; to the outpourings of contribu- 
tions of 3,000 school children ; to the liberal hand 
of the people that built these monuments ; to the 
more than 20,000 people attending the dedication 
ceremonies. And while I trudged and thought I 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 185 

forgot all about Twist, the recalcitrant cow, the 

dilemma that confronted me, to awake from my 
reverie in a more cheerful mood. "Do the best 
you can," I said almost in an audible tone, "and 
be not cast down," and my spirits rose almost to 
the point of exultation. 



186 THE OX TEAM OB 



CHAPTER XXII. 

The Ox Team Monument Expedition 
Concluded. 

KEARNEY, NEBRASKA. 

AT THAT beautiful city of Kearney we were 
accorded a fine camping place in the center 
of the town under the spreading boughs of the 
shade trees that line the streets, and a nice green, 
fresh-cut sward upon which to pitch our tents. 
The people came in great numbers to visit the 
camp and express their approval as to the objects 
of the trip. I said, "Here, we will surely get a 
splendid monument" ; but when I came to consult 
with the business men not one could be found to 
give up any time to the work, though many 
seemed interested. The president of the com- 
mercial club even refused to call a meeting of 
the club to consider the subject, because he said 
he had no time to attend the meeting and thought 
most of the members would be the same. I did 
not take it this man was opposed to the proposed 
work, but honestly felt there were more impor- 
tant matters pressing upon the time of business 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 187 

men, and said the subject could be taken up at 
their regular meeting in the near future. As I 
left this man's office, who, I doubted not, had 
spoken the truth, I wondered to myself if these 
busy men would ever find time to die. How did 
they find time to eat? or to sleep? and I queried, 
Is a business man's life worth the living if all 
his wakeful moments are absorbed in grasping 
for gains? But I am admonished that this query 
must be answered each for himself, and I reluc- 
tantly came away from Kearney without accom- 
plishing the object of my visit, and wondering 
whether my mission was ended and results 
finished. 

The reader will readily see that I would be 
the more willing listener to such an inner sug- 
gestion, in view of my crippled condition to carry 
on the work. And might not that condition have 
a bearing to bring about such results? No. For 
the people seemed to be greatly interested and 
sympathetic. The press was particularly kind 
in their notices, commending the work, but it 
takes time to arouse the business men to action, 
as one remarked to me, "You can't hurry us to 
do anything; we are not that kind of a set." 
This was said in a tone bordering on the offen- 
sive, though perhaps expressing only a truth. 



188 THE OX TEAM OB 

GRAND ISLAND. 

I did not, however, feel willing, to give up the 
work after having accomplished so much on the 
1,700 miles traveled, and with less than 200 
miles ahead of me, and so I said, "I will try 
again at Grand Island," the next place where 
there was a center of population, that an effort 
would probably succeed. Here I soon found 
there was a decided public sentiment to take 
action, but at a later date — next year — jointly 
to honor the local pioneers upon the occasion of 
the fiftieth anniversary of the settlement around 
and about the city, and so, this dividing the at- 
tention of the people, it was not thought best to 
undertake the work now, and again I bordered 
on the slough of despondency. 

I could not repeat the famous words, I would 
"fight it out on this line if it takes all summer," 
for here it is the 30th of August, and in one day 
more summer will be gone. Neither could I see 
how to accomplish more than prepare the way, 
and that now the press is doing, and sowing seed 
upon kindly ground that will in the future 
doubtless bring forth abundant harvest. 

Gradually the fact became uppermost in my 
mind that 1 was powerless to move; that my 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 189 

team was gone. No response came to the ex- 
tensive advertisements for an ox or a yoke of 
oxen, showing clearly there were none in the 
country, and that the only way to repair the 
damage was to get unbroken steers or cows and 
break them in. This could not be done in hot 
weather, or at least cattle unused to work could 
not go under the yoke and render effective service 
without seasoning, and so, for the time being, the 
work on the Trail was suspended. 

As I write in this beautiful grove of the "old 
court house grounds," in the heart of this embryo 
city of Grand Island, with its stately rows of 
shade trees, its modest, elegant homes, the bustle 
and stir on its business streets with the constant 
passing of trains, shrieking of whistles, ringing 
of bells, the reminder of a great change in con- 
ditions, my mind reverts back to that June day 
of 1852 when I passed over the ground near 
where the city stands. Vast herds of buffalo then 
grazed on the hills or leisurely crossed our track 
and at times obstructed our way. Flocks of an- 
telope frisked on the outskirts or watched from 
vantage points. The prairie dogs reared their 
heads in comical attitude, burrowing, it was said, 
with the rattlesnake and the badger. 



190 THE OX TEAM OR 

But now these dog colonies are gone; the buf- 
falo are gone; the antelope have disappeared; as 
likewise the Indian. Now all is changed. In- 
stead of the parched plain we saw in 1852 with 
its fierce clouds of dust rolling up the valley and 
engulfing whole trains till not a vestige of them 
could be seen, we see the landscape of smiling, 
fruitful fields, of contented homes, of inviting 
clumps of trees dotting the landscape. The hand 
of man has changed what we looked upon as a 
barren plain to that of a fruitful land. Where 
then there were only stretches of buffalo grass 
now waving fields of grain and great fields of 
corn send forth abundant harvests. Yes, we may 
again exclaim, "What wondrous changes time has 
wrought 1" 

At Grand Island I shipped to Fremont, Neb., to 
head the procession celebrating the semi-centennial of 
founding that city, working the ox and cow together; 
thence to Lincoln, where the first edition of this volume 
was printed, all the while searching for an ox or a steer 
large enough to mate the Dave ox, but without avail. 
Finally, after looking over a thousand herd of cattle in 
the stock yards at Omaha, a four-year-old steer was 
found and broken in on the way to Indianapolis, where 
I arrived January 5, 1907, eleven months and seven 
days from date of departure from my home at Puyallup, 
2,6Q0 miles distant. 




THB OLD OREGON TRAIL 191 



CHAPTER XXIII. 
A Chapter fob Children. 

I WILL take you into my confidence, little 
ones, and tell you a few stories, but they 
shall be true and about my trips across the 
Plains with ox teams. 

Some little ones have innocently asked if these 
oxen were cows. No, they are steers trained to 
work, and when they have been taught to work 
they are called oxen. The names of my team are 
Twist and Dave, and they are big oxen and the 
two weigh over a ton and a half. 

I have these shod with iron shoes, nailed on 
just like with a horse, but oxen must have two 
shoes on one foot so their split hoofs can spread. 

I worked cows in my team when I crossed the 
Plains in 1852, but we still called them cows 
after they were taught to work. We used to 
milk cows on the trip in 1852, and put the sur- 
plus milk in a can in the wagon, and at night 
get a nice lump of fresh butter. The jostling of 
the wagon would churn the milk. 

13 



192 THE OX TEAM OB 

THE ANTELOPES. 

One day on this trip while west of the Rocky 
mountains, in the state of Wyoming, two an- 
telopes crossed the road about a hundred yards 
ahead of us, a buck and a doe. The doe soon dis- 
appeared, but the buck came back to near the 
road and stood gazing at us in wonderment as if 
to say, "Who the mischief are you?" 

Our dog Jim soon scented him and away they 
went up the mountain side until Jim got tired 
and came back to the wagon, and then the an- 
telope stopped on a little eminence on the moun- 
tain and we could see him plainly against a back- 
ground of sky for a long distance. 

^Another time we actually got near enough to 
get a snap shot with our kodaks at two antelopes, 
but they were too far off to make good pictures. 
Our road led us obliquely up a gentle hill grad- 
ually approaching nearer the antelope. I no- 
ticed he would for awhile come toward us and 
then turn around and look the other way for 
awhile. After awhile we saw what at first we 
took to be a kid, or young antelope, but soon 
after discovered it was a coyote wolf prowling on 
the track of the antelope, and he was watching 
both of us. Just then after I had stopped the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 193 

wagon, six great, big fat sage hens were to be 
seen feeding not more than twice the length of 
the wagon away, just like I had seen them in 
1852. 

Animals and birds, you know, are not afraid 
of white people at first sight ; it 's only after they 
learn of their danger they become shy, after we 
have wantonly mistreated them that they mis- 
trust us. This was way out on the Rocky moun- 
tains where scarcely any one lives yet, and where 
the whole face of the country is nearly a mile and 
a half above sea level. 

QUARREL BETWEEN JIM AND DAVE. 

Animals have their likes and dislikes same as 
men and boys, and perhaps girls, too. Early in 
the trip our dog Jim and the ox Dave became 
mortal enemies. When I walked and drove, Jim 
would trot along beside me or at least would stay 
on that side of the wagon, and Twist, being on 
the nigh side, paid but little attention to him, 
but let me get into the wagon to drive and Jim 
would go over on the side next to Dave, and then 
the quarrel would begin. Once Dave caught him 
under the ribs with his right horn, which you see 
by the picture stands straight out nearly, and 



194 



THE OX TEAM OR 



tossed him over some sage brush near by. Some- 
times, if the yoke prevented him from getting a 
chance at Jim with his horn, he would throw out 
his nose and snort, just like a horse that has been 




ON THE BRIDGB. 



running at play and stops for a moment's rest. 
But Jim would manage to get even with him. 
Sometimes we put loose hay under the wagon to 
keep it out of the storm, and Jim would make a 



THE OLD OREGON TEAIL 195 

bed on it, and woe betide Dave if he undertook to 
take any of it. I saw Jim one day catch Dave by 
the nose and draw the blood, and you may read- 
ily believe the war was renewed with greater 
rancor than ever. This war was kept up for 
more than a thousand miles of the trip, and it is 
only recently they have ceased to quarrel vig- 
orously, but they are not yet friends to this day. 

JIM'S ADVENTURE WITH A WOLF. 

I have no doubt but Jim has traveled over 
6,000 miles on this trip. He would run way 
ahead of the wagon and then come back on the 
trot, and if I was riding, invariably go clear back 
of the wagon and come up by Dave, as it might 
appear, just to pick a quarrel with him. Then 
at other times he would run off first on one side 
of the wagon and then again the other, after 
birds, jack rabbits, squirrels, or anything in the 
world that could get into motion. One day a 
coyote wolf crossed the road just a few rods be- 
hind the wagon, and Jim took after him. It 
looked as though Jim would overtake him, and 
I was dubious as to the result of a tussel between 
them, and called Jim back. No sooner had he 
turned than the wolf turned, too, and made chase, 



196 THE OX TEAM OS 

and here they come, nip and tuck as to who could 
run the fastest. I think the wolf could, but he 
did not catch up until they got so near the wagon 
that he became frightened and scampered away 
up the slope of a hill near by. At another time 
a young wolf came and Jim played with him 
awhile, but by and by the little fellow snapped 
at Jim and made Jim mad, and he bounced on 
him and gave him a good trouncing. 

When the weather got hot, Jim, before we 
sheared him, would get very warm, and when- 
ever the wagon stopped he would dig off the top 
earth or sand that was hot so as to have a cool 
bed to lie in, but he was always ready to go when 
the wagon started. 

ABOUT PUGET SOUND. 

Now, little ones, I expect you would like to 
know something about life on Puget Sound, 
where I have lived so long. Maybe you do not 
know what kind of a place Puget Sound is any- 
way, and so I will first tell you, before I tell you 
about conditions there. 

Puget Sound is really an arm of the sea that 
runs inland for nearly 150 miles and ramifies 
into channels, around islands and indentures of 



THE OLD OEEGON TRAIL 197 

bays till there is, by actual government survey, 
more than 1,600 miles of shore line washed by 
the tides of the salt waters of the Pacific Ocean. 
This inland sea, as it is sometimes called, is in 
the northwestern part of the great state of Wash- 
ington, and on the shores of the Sound are a 
great number of towns and some cities, where, in 
the aggregate, more than 300,000 people now live, 
but where only a few hundred were there when 
I first saw it. 

And now as to conditions of early life I will 
quote from my book "Pioneer Keminiscences of 
Puget Sound, The Tragedy of Leschi," so you 
may know a little of my life out in that far-off 
country as well as of my trips out and back with 
ox teams and cows. 



19S THE OX TEAM OB 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Early Life on Puget Sound. 
WILD ANIMALS. 

* * T WILL write this chapter for the youngsi Js, 
. 1 and the elderly wise-heads who wear specs 
may turn over the leaves without reading it, if 
they choose. 

"Wild animals in early days were very much 
more plentiful than now, particularly deer and 
black bear. The black bear troubled us a good 
deal and would come near the houses and kill 
orr pigs; but it did not take many years to t u 
them out. They were very cowardly and would 
run away from us in the thick brush, except when 
the young cubs were with them, and then we had 
to be more careful. 

THE COUGAR. 

"There was one animal, the cougar, we felt 
might be dangerous, but I never saw but one in 
the woods. Before I tell you about it I will re- 
late an adventure one of my own little girls had 
with one af these creatures near by ow ©wa home 
in the Puyallup valley. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 199 

"I have written elsewhere about our little log 
cabin schoolhouse, but have not told how our 
children got to it. Prom our house to the school- 
house the trail led through very heavy timber 
and very heavy underbrush — so dense that most 
all the way one could not see, in the summer time 
when the leaves were on, as far as across the 
kitchen of the house. 

"One day little Carrie, now an elderly lady (I 
won't say how old), now living in Seattle, started 
to go to school, but soon came running back out 
of breath. 

" 'Mamma ! Mamma ! I saw a great big cat 
sharpening his claws on a great big tree, just 
like pussy does/ she said as soon as she could 
catch her breath. Sure enough, upon examina- 
tion, there were the marks as high up on the tree 
as I could reach. It must have been a big one to 
reach up the tree that far. But the incident soon 
dropped out of mind and the children went to 
school on the trail just the same as if nothing 
had happened. 

"The way I happened to see the cougar was 
this: Lew McMillan bought 161 cattle and 
drove them from Oregon to what we then 
used to call Upper White river, but it was 



200 THE OX TEAM Oil 

the present site of Auburn, He had to 
swim his cattle over all the rivers, and his horses, 
too, and then at the last day's drive brought them 
on the divide between Stuck river and the Sound. 
The cattle were all very tame when he took them 
into the White river valley, for they were tired 
and hungry. At that time White river valley 
was covered with brush and timber, except here 
and there a small prairie. The upper part of the 
valley was grown up with tall, coarse rushes that 
remained green all winter, and so he did n't have 
to feed his cattle, but they got nice and fat long 
before spring. We bought them and agreed to 
take twenty head at a time. By this time the 
cattle were nearly as wild as deer. So Lew built 
a very strong corral on the bank of the river, 
near where Auburn is now, and then made a 
brush fence from one corner down river way, 
which made it a sort of a lane, with the fence 
on one side and the river on the other, and grad- 
ually widened out as he got further from the 
corral. 

"I used to go over from Steilacoom and stay 
all night, so we could make a drive into the cor- 
ral early, but this time I was belated and had to 
camp on the road, so that we did not get an early 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 201 

start for the next day's drive. The cattle seemed 
unruly that day, and when we let them out of 
the corral up river way, they scattered and we 
could n't do anything with them. The upshot of 
the matter was that I had to go home without 
any cattle. We had worked with the cattle so 
long that it was very late before I got started 
and had to go on foot. At that time the valley 
above Auburn near the Stuck river crossing was 
filled with a dense forest of monster fir and cedar 
trees, and a good deal of underbrush besides. 
That forest was so dense in places that it was 
difficult to see the road, even on a bright, sun- 
shiny day, while on a cloudy day it seemed al- 
most like night, though I could see well enough 
to keep on the crooked trail all right. 

"Well, just before I got to Stuck river crossing 
I came to a turn in the trail where it crossed the 
top of a big fir that had been turned up by the 
roots and had fallen nearly parallel with the 
trail. The big roots held the butt of the tree up 
from the ground, and I think the tree was four 
feet in diameter a hundred feet from the butt, 
and the whole body, from root to top, was eighty- 
four steps long, or about two hundred and fifty 
feet. I have seen longer trees than that, though, 



202 THE OX TEAM OR 

and bigger ones, but there were a great many 
like this one standing all around about me. 

"I did n't stop to step it then, but you may be 
sure I took some pretty long strides about that 
time. Just as I stepped over the fallen tree near 
the top I saw something move on the big body 
near the roots, and sure enough the thing was 
coming right toward me. In an instant I realized 
what it was. It was a tremendous, great big 
cougar. He was very pretty, but did not look 
very nice t© me. I had just had a letter from a 
man living near the Chehalis telling me of three 
lank, lean cougars coming into his clearing where 
he was at work, and when he started to go to his 
cabin to get his gun the brutes started to follow 
him, and he only just escaped into his house, with 
barely time to slam the door shut. He wrote 
that his dogs had gotten them on the run by the 
time he was ready with his gun, and he finally 
killed all three of them. He found they were lit- 
erally starving and had, he thought, recently 
robbed an Indian grave, or rather an Indian 
canoe that hung in the trees with their dead in it. 
That is the way the Indians used to dispose of 
their dead, but I haven't time to tell about that 
now. This man found bits of cloth, some hair, 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 203 

and a piece of bone in the stomach of one of them, 
so he felt sure he was right in his surmise, and I 
think he was, too. I sent this man's letter to the 
paper, the Olympia Transcript, and it was 
printed at the time, but I have forgotten his 
name. 

"Well, I didn't know what to do. I had no 
gun with me, and I knew perfectly well there 
was no use to run. I knew, too, that I could not 
do as Mr. Stocking did, grapple with it and kick 
it to death. This one confronting me was a mon- 
strous big one — at least it looked so to me. I 
expect it looked bigger than it really was. Was 
I scared, did you say? Did you ever have creep- 
ers run up your back and right to the roots of 
your hair, and nearly to the top of your head? 
Yes, I '11 warrant you have, though a good many 
fellows won't acknowledge it and say it's only 
cowards that feel that way. Maybe; but, any- 
way, I do n't want to meet wild cougars in the 
timber. 

"Mr. Stocking, whom I spoke about, lived 
about ten miles from Olympia at Glasgow's place. 
He was walking on the prairie and had a stout 
young dog with him, and came suddenly upon a 
cougar lying in a corner of the fence. His dog 



204 THE OX TEAM OS 

tackled the brute at once, but was no match for 
him, and would soon have been killed if Stocking 
had not interfered. Mr. Stocking gathered on to 
a big lub and struck the cougar one heavy blow 
over the back, but the stick broke and the cougar 
left the dog and attacked his master. And so it 
was a life and death struggle. Mr. Stocking was 
a very powerful man. It was said that he was 
double- jointed. He was full six feet high and 
heavy in proportion. He was a typical pioneer 
in health, strength, and power of endurance. He 
said he felt as though his time had come, but 
there was one chance in a thousand, and he was 
going to take that chance. As soon as the cougar 
let go of the dog to tackle Stocking, the cur 
sneaked off to let his master fight it out alone. 
He had had enough fight for one day. As the 
cougar raised on his hind legs Stocking luckily 
grasped him by the throat and began kicking him 
in the stomach. Stocking said he thought if he 
could get one good kick in the region of the heart 
he felt that he might settle him. I guess, boys, 
no football player ever kicked as hard as Stock- 
ing did that day. The difference was that^he was 
literally kicking for dear life, while the player 
kicks only for fun. All this happened in less 



THE OLD OREGON TEAIL 205 

time than it takes me to tell it. Meanwhile the 
cougar was not idle, but was clawing away at 
Stocking's arms and shoulders, and once he hit 
him a clip on the nose. The dog finally returned 
to the strife and between the two they laid Mr. 
Cougar low and took off his skin the next day. 
Mr. Stocking took it to Olympia, where it was 
used for a base purpose. It was stuffed and put 
into a saloon and kept there a long time to at- 
tract people into the saloon. 

"Did my cougar hurt me, did you say? I 
had n't any cougar and had n't lost one, and if 
I had been hurt I would n't have been here to tell 
you this story. The fun of it was that the cougar 
had n't yet seen me, but just as soon as he did he 
scampered off like the Old Harry himself was 
after him, and I strode off down the trail like old 
Belzebub was after me. 

"Now, youngsters, before you go to bed, just 
bear in mind there is no danger here now from 
wild animals, and there was not much then, for 
in all the time I have been here, now over fifty 
years, I have known of but two persons killed by 
them. 

"And now I will tell you one more true story 
and then quit for this time. Aunt Abbie Sumner 



206 THE OX TEAM OB 

one evening heard Gus Johnson hallowing at the 
top of his voice, a little way out from the house. 
Her father said Gus was just driving up the 
cows, but Aunt Abbie said she never knew him 
to make such a noise as that before, and went out 
within speaking distance and where she could see 
him at times pounding vigorously on a tree for 
awhile and then turn and strike out toward the 
brush and yell so loud she said she believed he 
could be heard for more than a mile away. She 
soon saw something moving in the brush. It was 
a bear. Gus had suddenly come upon a bear and 
her cubs and run one of the cubs up a tree. He 
pounded on the tree to keep it there, but had to 
turn at times to fight the bear away from him. 
As soon as he could find time to speak he told 
her to go to the house and bring the gun, which 
she did, and that woman went right up to the 
tree and handed Gus the gun while the bear was 
near by. Gus made a bad shot the first time and 
wounded the bear, but the next time killed her. 
But lo, and behold ! he had n't any more bullets 
and the cub was still up the tree. So away went 
Aunt Abbie two miles to a neighbor to get lead 
to mold some bullets. But by this time it was 
dark, and Gus stayed all night at the butt of the 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 207 

tree and kept a fire burning, and next morning 
killed the cub. So he got the hides of both of 
them. This occurred about three miles east of 
Bucoda, and both of the parties are living in 
sight of the spot where the adventure took place/' 

THE MORNING SCHOOL. 

"And now I will write another story for the 
youngsters, the boys and girls, and the old folks 
may skip it if they wish ; but I am going to relate 
true stories. 

"Soon after the Indian war we moved to our 
donation claim. We had but three neighbors, 
the nearest nearly two miles away, and two of 
them kept bachelor's hall and were of no account 
for schools. Of course, we could not see any of 
our neighbors' houses, and could reach but one 
by a road and the others by a trail. Under such 
conditions we could not have a public school. I 
can best tell about our morning school by relat- 
ing an incident that happened a few months after 
it was started. 

"One day one of our farther-off neighbors, who 
lived over four miles away, came to visit us. 
Naturally, the children flocked around him to 
hear his stories in Scotch brogue, and began to 

14 



208 THE OX TEAM OE 

ply questions, to which he soon responded by 
asking other questions, one of which was when 
they expected to go to school. 

« 'Why, we have school now/ responded a 
chorus of voices. 'We have school every day.' 

" 'And, pray, who is your teacher, and where 
is your schoolhouse?' came the prompt inquiry. 

" 'Father teaches us at home every morning 
before breakfast. He hears the lessons then, but 
mother helps us, too/ 

"Peter Smith, the neighbor (and one of the 
group in the old settlers' meeting), never tires 
telling the story, and maybe has added a little 
as memory fails, for he is eighty-four years old 
now. 1 

" 'Your father told me awhile ago that you had 
your breakfast at six o'clock. What time do you 
get up?' 

" 'Why, father sets the clock for half -past four, 
and that gives us an hour while mother gets 
breakfast, you know.' 

"You boys and girls wiio read this chapter 
may have a feeling almost akin to pity for those 



1 Smith has died since this was written. He was one 
of the most respected pioneers, possessed of sterling qual- 
ities of manhood. Like Father Kincaid, he was without 
enemies. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 209 

poor pioneer children who had to get up so early, 
but you may as well dismiss such thoughts from 
your minds, for they were happy and cheerful 
and healthy, worked some during the day, besides 
studying their lessons, but they went to bed ear- 
lier than some boys and girls do these days. 

"It was not long until we moved to the PuyaJ- 
lup valley, where there were more neighbors — 
two families to the square mile, but not one of 
them in sight, because the timber and under- 
brush was so thick we could scarcely see two 
rods from the edge of our clearing. Now we 
could have a real school; but first I will tell 
about the schoolhouse. 

"Some of the neighbors took their axes to cut 
the logs, some their oxen to haul them, others 
their saws and frows to make the clapboards for 
the roof, while again others, more handy with 
tools, made the benches out of split logs, or, as 
we called them, puncheons. With a good many 
willing hands, the house soon received the finish- 
ing touches. The side walls were scarcely high 
enough for the door, and one was cut in the end 
and a door hung on wooden hinges that squeaked 
a good deal when the door was opened or shut; 
but the children did not mind that. The roof 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 211 

answered well for the ceiling overhead, and a 
log cut out on each side made two long, narrow 
windows for light. The larger children sat with 
their faces to the walls, with long shelves in front 
of them, while the smaller tots sat on low benches 
near the middle of the room. When the weather 
would permit the teacher left the door open to 
admit more light, but had no need for more fresh 
air, as the roof was quite open and the cracks 
between the logs let in plenty. 

"Sometimes we had a lady teacher, and then 
her salary was smaller, as she boarded around. 
That meant some discomfort part of the time, 
where the surroundings were not pleasant. 

"Some of those scholars are dead, some have 
wandered to parts unknown, while those that 
are left are nearly all married and are grand- 
fathers or grandmothers, but all living remem- 
ber the old log schoolhouse with affection. This 
is a true picture, as I recollect, of the early 
school days in the Puyallup valley, when, as the 
unknown poet has said: 

'And children did a half day's work 
Before they went to school.' 



212 THE OX TEAM OR 

"Not quite so hard as that, but very near it, as 
we were always up early and the children did a 
lot of work before and after school time. 

"When Carrie was afterwards sent to Portland 
to the high school she took her place in the class 
just the same as if she had been taught in a grand 
brick schoolhouse. 'Where there is a will there 
is a way/ 

"You must not conclude that we had no recrea- 
tion and that we were a sorrowful set devoid of 
enjoyment, for there never was a happier lot of 
people than these same hard-working pioneers 
and their families. I will now tell you something 
about their home life, their amusements as well 
as their labor. 

"Before the clearings were large we sometimes 
got pinched for both food and clothing, though I 
will not say we suffered much for either, though 
I know of some families at times who lived on 
potatoes "straight." Usually fish could be had 
in abundance, and considerable game — some bear 
and plenty of deer. The clothing gave us the 
most trouble, as but little money came to us for 
the small quantity of produce we had to spare. 
I remember one winter we were at our wits' end 
for shoes. We just could not get money to buy 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 213 

shoes enough to go around, but managed to get 
leather to make each member of the family one 
pair. We killed a pig to get bristles for the wax- 
ends, cut the pegs from a green alder log and 
seasoned them in the oven, and made the lasts 
out of the same timber. Those shoes were 
clumsy, to be sure, but they kept our feet dry 
and warm, and we felt thankful for the comforts 
vouchsafed to us and sorry for some neighbors' 
children, who had to go barefooted even in quite 
cold weather. 

"Music was our greatest pleasure and we never 
tired of it. "Uncle John," as everyone called 
him, the old teacher, never tired teaching the 
children music, and so it soon came about they 
could read their music as readily as they could 
their school books. No Christmas ever went by 
without a Christmas tree, in which the whole 
neighborhood joined, or a Fourth of July passed 
without a celebration. We made the presents for 
the tree if we could not buy them, and supplied 
the musicians, reader, and orator for the celebra- 
tion. Everybody had something to do and a 
voice in saying what should be done, and that 
very fact made all happy. 

"We had sixteen miles to go to our market 
town, Steilacoom, over the roughest kind of a 



214 THE OX TEAM OR 

road. Nobody had horse teams at the start, and 
so we had to go with ox teams. We could not 
make the trip out and back in one day, and did 
not have money to pay hotel bills, and so we 
would drive out part of the way and camp and 
the next morning drive into town very early, do 
our trading, and, if possible, reach home the same 
day. If not able to do this, we camped again on 
the road ; but if the night was not too dark would 
reach home in the night. And oh! what an ap- 
petite we would have, and how cheery the fire 
would be, and how welcome the reception in the 
cabin home. 

"One of the 'youngsters/ fifty years old to- 
morrow, after reading 'The Morning School/ 
writes : 

" 'Yes, father, your story of the morning school 
is just as it was. I can see in my mind's eye yet 
us children reciting and standing up in a row 
to spell, and Auntie and mother getting break- 
fast, and can remember the little bedroom; of 
rising early and of reading "Uncle Tom's Cabin" 
as a dessert to the work/ 

"Near where the old log cabin schoolhouse 
stood our high school building now stands, large 
enough to accommodate 400 pupils. In the dis- 






THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 215 

trict where we could count nineteen children of 
school age, with eleven in attendance, now we 
have 1,007 boys and girls of school age, three 
large schoolhouses, and seventeen teachers. 

The trees and stumps are all gone and brick 
buildings and other good houses occupy much 
of the land, and as many people now live in that 
school district as lived both east and west of the 
mountains when the Territory was created in 
March, 1853. Instead of ox teams, and some at 
that with sleds, the people have buggies and car- 
riages, or they can travel on any of the eighteen 
passenger trains that pass daily through Puyal- 
lup. or on street cars to Tacoma, and also on 
some of the twenty to twenty-four freight trains, 
some of which are a third of a mile long. Such 
are some of the changes wrought in fifty years 
since pioneer life began in the Puyallup valley. 

"Now, just try your hand on this song that fol- 
lows, one that our dear old teacher has sung so 
often for us, in company with one of those schol- 
ars of the old log cabin, Mrs. Frances Bean, now 
of Tacoma, who has kindly supplied the words 
and music: 



216 THE OX TEAM OR 

"How wondrous are the changes 

Since fifty years ago; 
When girls wore woolen dresses, 

And boys wore pants of tow; 
And shoes were made of cowhide, 

And socks of homespun wool; 
And children did a half day's work 

Before they went to school. 

Chorus — "Some fifty years ago, 

Some fifty years ago, 
The men and the boys, 
The girls and the toys; 
The work and the play, 
And the night and the day, 
The world and its ways 
Are all turned around 

Since fifty years ago. 

"The girls took music lessons 

Upon the spinning wheel, 
And practiced late and early 

On spindle swift and reel. 
The boy would ride the horse to mill, 

A dozen miles or so, 
And hurry off before 't was day, 

Some fifty years ago. — Cho. 

"The people rode to meeting 

In sleds instead of sleighs, 
And wagons rode as easy 

As buggies nowadays; 
And oxen answered well for teams. 

Though now they'd be too slow; 
For people lived not half so fast 

Some fifty years ago.— Cho. 

"Ah! well do I remember 

That Wilson's patent stove. 
That father bought and paid for 

In cloth our girls had wove; 
And how the people wondered 

When we got the thing to go, 
And said 't would burst and kill us all, 

Some fifty years ago. — Cho." 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 217 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Questions and Answers. 

FROM the very start, questions were asked 
and answers given, times without number, 
one might almost say, some quite pertinent while 
others were prompted from idle curiosity alone 
and became annoying. A few of these follow to 
show the drift of the questions, there being but 
a small percentage that got right down to the 
pith of the matter without prompting — the erec- 
tion of monuments and the teaching of history 
to the younger generation. 

The children in particular were very insistent 
to know all about the expedition, resulting in 
contributions from nearly three thousand of them 
to local committees for erecting monuments. 
From the nature of the questions it became evi- 
dent that but few of the children knew anything 
about the old Oregon Trail or of the emigration, 
or what an ox was, whether some wild animal 
tamed, or a particular species of animals of 
which they had never before heard. One little 
five-year-old girl, with large confiding eyes, one 



218 THE OX TEAM OK 

day asked my granddaughter, who was travel- 
ing with me, "What is your name?" Not receiv- 
ing an immediate reply, she cuddled up a little 
closer, and with a look full in the face, said, "Is 
your name Mrs. Oxen?" I have been gravely 
asked by grown-up people if those were the same 
oxen I drove in 1852, some of these in alleged 
witticism, yet in many cases in thoughtless quer- 
ies. The example questions follow : 

Q. How old are those oxen, daddy? It seems 
to me this one is quite young. 

A. Yes, that ox, Dave, was an unbroke range 
four-year-old steer when we started. I broke him 
in on the road, the same as I did in 1852, the 
difference being the team was all young and un- 
broken in '52, while this other ox, Twist, was 
well broken and is seven years old. 

Q. Well, where are you going with that rig? 
It 's been a long time since I have seen the like 
of it. 

A. I am going first to Omaha, following as 
near as I can the old Oregon Trail, and then 
drive on through Iowa and Illinois to Indianap- 
olis, Indiana, my real starting point for Oregon 
in the fall of 185L 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 219 

Q. Goodness gracious; you don't expect to 
drive all that distance with that yoke of oxen? 
Let me see, how far is it? 

A. Yes, I expect to drive the whole distance 
with this one yoke of oxen. It is nearly 3,000 
miles as the wagon road runs. 

Q. Well, it's been a long time since I have 
seen one of those old-fashioned prairie schoon- 
ers; linch-pins and all, eh. I declare, there's 
the tar bucket, too. Well, well, well ; it puts me 
in mind of old times, sure enough. My father 
drove one of them across the Plains in '51. I 
was only a chunk of a boy then, but I remember 
the trip well. 

Q. Of course this is n't the same wagon you 
crossed in, in '52, is it? 

A. Oh, no ; but that hub in the near fore wheel 
is from a wagon that did cross the Plains to 
Oregon in 1853. That is the only old woodwork 
in this wagon, but you will notice all the hub 
bands and some other parts of the iron work are 
from old wagons. Yes, the hub bands of the 
hind wheels don't match the fore wheels. You 
see I had to use the remnants of three old wag- 
ons to get the irons for one, but that is in keep- 
ing with what was to be seen on the Plains after 



290 THE OX TBAM Oft 

people began to abandon their wagons. Others 
would come along, take a wheel or an axle to 
strengthen their own with. 

Q. Well, 1 never could see what those prairie 
schooner wagon-beds were made crooked for, 
could you? 

A. No, I can't say that I can, but they came 
in very handy in crossing rivers. They are fash- 
ioned just like a boat, you know, on the bottom, 
and answer very well for a boat. 

Q. But did you ever see people cross rivers in 
a wagon-box? 

A. Yes. I crossed Snake river in two places 
myself in 1852 in my wagon-box, but that was 
in an ordinary square box. Yes, I took my 
wagon over in it, or rather, on it, for the run- 
ning-gear was run over the box and gradually 
run out into deep water till the whole was afloat. 

Q. Say, Grandpap, you do n't expect them cat- 
tle to last you till you get to Indianapolis, do 
you? 

A. Why not? Do they look as if they were 
about given out? That yoke of oxen weighs 170 
pounds more than they did when I left home. 

Q. Well, that 's a fact, they are both good beef. 
How much did you say they weighed? 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 221 

A. The last time I weighed them they tipped 
the scales at 3,217 pounds. When I started from 
Puyallup they weighed 3,130. 

Q. Uncle, what the mischief are you going on 
this long journey for this way? Why do n't you 
get you a good, brisk horse team or a span of 
mules? Oh, say, an automobile would be just 
the thing, wouldn't it? 

A. I am going on this trip for a purpose, not 
for pleasure or comfort. That purpose is to 
arouse public interest in and to perpetuate the 
memory of the old Oregon Trail, and to honor 
the pioneers who made it, by marking the Trail 
at intersections with present-traveled roads and 
erecting stone monuments, suitably inscribed, in 
centers of population. You will agree with me 
the ox team and old-fashioned outfit at least ac- 
complishes the first object. To do this speedily 
and effectively I must first arrest public atten- 
tion, after which I may enlist their sympathy 
and secure their aid. Would you have known 
anything about this expedition had it not been 
for the ox team? 

Q. No, I would not, that's a fact. 

Q. Where was it you said you were from, 
Uncial 



222 THE OX TEAM OR 

A. Puyallup, Washington. 

Q. Where did you say it is? 

A. Puyallup is in the valley of that name about 
nine miles southeast of the city of Tacoma, and 
is on the Northern Pacific railroad, between Ta- 
coma and Seattle, and nine miles distant from 
Tacoma and thirty miles south from Seattle. 

Q. Let me see, what did you say was the name 
of that place? 

This question was so often asked and other 
kindred questions not only on this trip but else- 
where, I am prompted to draw once more from 
my work, "Pioneer Eeminiscences of Puget 
Sound/ 7 and quote from my chapter on names in 
that work written in lighter vein, yet strictly 
historical, for I did have the experience in New 
York, as related, and in London likewise, and 
afterwards on the Yukon river, and in Dawson. 

"I have another historic name to write about, 
Puyallup, that we know is of Indian origin— -as 
old as the memory of white man runs. But such 
a name ! I consider it no honor to the man who 
named the town (now city) of Puyallup. I ac- 
cept the odium attached to inflicting that name 
on suffering succeeding generations by first plat- 
ting a few blocks of land into village lots and 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 223 

recording them under the name of Puyallup. I 
have been ashamed of the act ever since. The 
first time I went east after the town was named 
and said to a friend in New York that our town 
was named Puyallup he seemed startled. 'Named 
what?' 'Puyallup/ I said, emphasizing the word. 
'That 's a jaw-breaker/ came the response. 'How 
do you spell it?' 'P-u-y-a-1-l-u-p/ I said. 'Let 
me see — how did you say you pronounced it?' 
Pouting out my lips like a veritable Siwash, and 
emphasizing every letter and syllable so as to 
bring out the Peuw for "Puy," and the strong 
emphasis on the "al," and cracking my lips to- 
gether to cut off the "lup," I finally drilled my 
friend so he could pronounce the word, yet fell 
short of the elegance of the scientific pronunci- 
ation. 

"Then when I crossed the Atlantic and across 
the old London bridge to the borough, and there 
encountered the factors of the hop trade on that 
historic ground, the haunts of Dickens in his 
day; and when we were bid to be seated to par- 
take of the viands of an elegant dinner ; and when 
I saw the troubled look of my friend, whose lot 
was to introduce me to the assembled hop mer- 
chants, and knew what was weighing on his mind, 

15 



224 THE OX TEAM 01 

my sympathy went out to him but remained help- 
less to aid him. 

" 'I say — I say — let me introduce to you my 
American friend — my American friend from — 
my American friend from — from — from' 

"And, when, with an imploring look, he visibly 
appealed to me for help, and finally blurted out : 

" <I say, Meeker, I caw n't remember that 
blarsted name— what is it?' 

"And when the explosion of mirth came with : 
'All the same, he 's a jolly good fellow — a jolly 
good fellow.' 



«■ 



I say, when all this had happened, and much 
more besides, I could yet feel resigned to my fate. 

"Then when at Dawson I could hear the shrill 
whistle from the would-be wag, and hear : 

"'He's all the way from Puy-aZ-lup,' I could 
yet remain in composure. 

"Then when, at night at the theaters, the jest- 
ers would say: 

"'Whar was it, stranger, you said you was 
from?' 

"'Puy-al-lup!' 

" 'Oh, you did?' followed by roars of laughter 
all over the house — all this I could hea,r with 
seeming equanimity. 



l II 



THE OLD OREGON TEAIL 225 

"But when letters began to come addressed 
'Pewlupe/ Tolly-pup/ 'Pull-all-up/ 'Pewl-a-loop/ 
and finally 'Pay-all-up/ then my cup of sorrow 
was full, and I was ready to put on sackcloth 
and ashes." 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 227 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

Autobiography op the Author. 

NO APOLOGY is offered for this writing al- 
though no very apparent reason may ap- 
pear to call for it. I am aware that the life of 
an humble citizen is of not much importance to 
the public at large; yet, with a widening circle 
of friends following my advanced years, I feel 
justified in recording a few of the incidents of a 
very busy life, and of portraying some customs 
long since fallen into disuse, and relating inci- 
dents of early days now almost forgotten. 

I was born at Huntsville, Butler county, Ohio, 
which is about twenty-five miles northeasterly 
of Cincinnati, Ohio. This, to me, important 
event occurred on December 29, A.D. 1830, and 
so I am many years past the usual limit of three 
score years and ten. 

My father's ancestors came from England in 
1676, settled in Elizabeth City, New Jersey, built 
a very substantial stone house which is still pre- 
served, furnished more than a score of hardy 
soldiers in the War for Independence, and were 



228 THE ox TEAM OE 

noted for their stalwart strength, steady habits, 
and patriotic ardor. My father had lost nothing 
of the original sturdy instincts of the stock nor 
of the stalwart strength incident to his ancestral 
breeding. I remember that for three years, at 
Carlyle's flouring mill in the then western sub- 
urbs of Indianapolis, Ind., he worked 18 hours 
a day, as miller. He had to be on duty at the 
mill by 7:00 o'clock a. m., and remained on duty 
until one o'clock at night and could not leave the 
mill for dinner; — all this for $20 a month and 
bran for the cow, and yet his health was good 
and strength seemied the same as when he began 
the ordeal. My mother's maiden name was Phoeba 
Baker. A strong German strain of blood ran in 
her veins, but I know nothing farther back than 
my grandfather Baker, who settled in Butler coun- 
ty, Ohio, in the year 1801 or thereabouts. My 
mother, like my father, could and did endure 
continuous long hours of severe labor without much 
discomfort, in her household duties. I have known 
her frequently to patch and mend our clothing 
until 11 :00 o 'clock at night and yet would in- 
variably be up in the morning by. 4 :00 and resume 
her labors. 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 229 

Both my parents were sincere, though not aus- 
tere Christian people, my mother in particular 
inclining to a liberal faith, but both were in early 
days members of the "Disciples," or as sometimes 
known as "Newlites," afterwards, I believe, 
merged with the "Christian" church, popularly 
known as the "Campbellites," and were ardent 
admirers of Love Jameson who presided so long 
over the Christian organization at Indianapolis, 
and whom I particularly remember as one of the 
sweetest singers that I ever heard. 

Small wonder that with such parents and such 
surroundings I am able to say that for fifty-five 
years of married life I have never been sick in 
bed a single day, and that I can and have en- 
dured long hours of labor during my whole life, 
and what is more particularly gratifying that I 
can truthfully say that I have always loved my 
work and that I never watched for the sun to go 
down to relieve me from the burden of labor. 

"Burden of labor?" Why should any man call 
labor a burden? It's the sweetest pleasure of 
life, if we will but look aright. Give me nothing 
of the "man with the hoe" sentiment, as depicted 
by Markham, but let me see the man with a light 
heart ; that labors ; that fulfils a destiny the good 



230 THE OX TEAM OR 

God has given him; that fills an honored place 
in life even if in an humble station; that looks 
upon the bright side of life while striving as best 
he may to do his duty. I am led into these 
thoughts by what I see around about me, so 
changed from that of my boyhood days where 
labor was held to be honorable, even though in 
humble stations. 

But, to return to my story. My earliest recol- 
lection, curiously enough, is of my schoolboy 
days, of which I had so few. I was certainly not 
five years old when a drunken, brutal school 
teacher undertook to spank me while holding 
me on his knees because I did not speak a word 
plainly. That was the first fight I have any 
recollection of, and hardly know whether I re- 
member that but for the witnesses, one of them 
my oldest brother, who saw the struggle, where 
my teeth did such excellent work as to draw 
blood quite freely. What a spectacle that, of a 
half drunken teacher maltreating his scholars! 
But then that was a time before a free school 
system, and when the parson would not hesitate 
to take a wee bit, and when, if the decanter was 
not on the sideboard, the jug and gourd served 
as well in the field or house. To harvest without 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 231 

whisky in the field was not to be thought of; 
nobody ever heard of a log-rolling or barn-rais- 
ing without whisky. And so I will say to the 
zealous temperance reformers, Be of good cheer, 
for the world has moved in these seventy-five 
years. Be it said, though, to the everlasting 
honor of my father, that he set his head firmly 
against the practice, and said his grain should 
rot in the field before he would supply whisky 
to his harvest hands, and I have no recollections 
of ever but once tasting any alcoholic liquors in 
my boyhood days. 

I did, however, learn to smoke when very 
young. It came about in this way : My mother 
always smoked, as long as I can remember. 
Women those days smoked as well as men, and 
nothing was thought of it. Well, that was before 
the time of matches, or leastwise, it was a time 
when it was thought necessary to economize in 
their use, and mother, who was a corpulent 
woman, would send me to put a coal in her pipe, 
and so I would take a whiff or two, just to get it 
started, you know, which, however, soon devel- 
oped into the habit of lingering to keep it going. 
But let me be just to myself, for more than 
twenty years ago I threw away my pipe and 



232 



THE OX TEAM OB 



have never smoked since, and never will, and 
now to those smokers who say they "can't quit" 
I want to call their attention to one case of a 
man that did. 

My next recollection of school-boy days was 
after father had moved to Lockland, Ohio, then 
ten miles north of Cincinnati, now, I presume, 
a suburb of that great city. I played "hookey" 
instead of going to school, but one day while 
under the canal bridge the noise of passing teams 
so frightened me that I ran home and betrayed 
myself. Did my mother whip me? Why, God 
bless her dear old soul, no. Whipping of chil- 
dren, though, both at home and in the school- 
room was then about as common as eating one's 
breakfast; but my parents did not think it was 
necessary to rule by the rod, though then their 
family government was exceptional. And so we 
see now a different rule prevailing, and see that 
the world does move and is getting better. 

After my father's removal to Indiana times 
were "hard," as the common expression goes, 
and all members of the household for a season 
were called on to contribute their mite. I drove 
four yoke of oxen for twenty-five cents a day, 
and a part of that time boarded at home at that. 



tHS OLD OREGON TEAIL 233 

This was on the Wabash where oak grubs grew, 
as father often said, "as thick as hair on a dog's 
back," but not so thick as that. But we used to 
force the big plow through and cut grubs with the 
plow shear, as big as my wrist ; and when we saw 
a patch of them ahead, then was when I learned 
how to halloo and rave at the poor oxen and in- 
considerately whip them, but father would n't 
let me swear at them. Let me say parenthetically 
that I have long since discontinued such a fool- 
ish practice, and that now I talk to my oxen in 
a conversational tone of voice and use the whip 
sparingly. When father moved to Indianapolis, 
I think in 1838, "times" seemed harder than ever 
and I was put to work whenever an opportunity 
for employment offered, and encouraged by my 
mother to seek odd jobs and keep the money my- 
self, she, however, becoming my banker; and in 
three years I had actually accumulated $37. 
My ! but what a. treasure that was to me, and 
what a bond of confidence between my mother 
and myself, for no one else, as I thought, knew 
anything about my treasure. I found out after- 
wards, though, that father knew about it all the 
time. My ambition was to get some land. I had 
heard there was a forty-acre tract in Hendrix 



234 THE OX TEAM OB 

county (Indiana) yet to be entered at fl.25 per 
acre, and as soon as I could get $50 together I 
meant to hunt up that land and secure it. I 
used to dream about that land day times as well 
as at night. I sawed wood twice to the cut for 
twenty-five cents a cord, and enjoyed the expe- 
rience, for at night I could add to my treasure. 
It was because my mind did not run on school 
work and because of my restless disposition that 
my mother allowed me to do this instead of 
compelling me to go to school, and which cut 
down my real school-boy days to less than six 
months. It was, to say the least, a dangerous 
experiment and one which only a mother (who 
knows her child better than all others) dare 
take, and I will not by any means advise other 
mothers to adopt such a course. 

Then when did you get your education? the 
casual reader may ask. I will tell you a story. 
When in 1870 I wrote my first book (long since 
out of print), "Washington Territory West of 
the Cascade Mountains," and submitted the 
work to the eastern public, a copy fell into the 
hands of Jay Cook, who then had six power 
presses running advertising the Northern Pacific 
railroad, and he at once took up my whole edi- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 235 

tion. Mr. Cook, whom I met, closely questioned 
me as to where I was educated. After having an- 
swered his many queries about my life on the 
frontier he would not listen to my disclaimer that 
I was not an educated man, referring to the work 
in his hand. The fact then dawned on me that it 
was the reading of the then current literature 
of the day that had taught me; and I answered 
that the New York Tribune had educated me, as 
I had then been a close reader of that paper for 
eighteen years, and it was there I got my pure 
English diction, if I possessed it. We received 
mails only twice a month for a long time, and 
sometimes only once a month, and it is needless 
to say that all the matter in the paper was read 
and much of it re-read and studied in the cabin 
and practiced in the field. However, I do not 
set my face against school training, but can bet- 
ter express my meaning by the quaint saying 
that "too much of a good thing is more than 
enough," a phrase in a way senseless, which yet 
conveys a deeper meaning than the literal words 
express. The context will show the lack of a 
common school education, after all, was not en- 
tirely for want of an opportunity, but from my 
aversion to confinement and preference of work 
to study. 



236 THE OX TEAM OR 

III those days apprenticeship was quite com- 
mon, and it was not thought to be a disgrace for 
a child to be "bound out" till he was twenty-one, 
the more especially if this involved learning a 
trade. Father took a notion he would "bind me 
out" to a Mr. Arthens, the mill owner at Lock- 
land, who was childless, and took me with him 
one day to talk it over. Finally, when asked how 
I would like the change, I promptly replied that 
it would be all right if Mrs. Arthens would "do 
up my sore toes," whereupon there was such an 
outburst of merriment that I always remembered 
it. We must remember that boys those days did 
not wear shoes in summer and quite often not 
in winter either. But mother put a quietus on 
the whole business and said the family must not 
be divided, and it was not, and in that she was 
right. Give me the humble home for a child that 
is a home in fact, rather than the grandest pal- 
ace where home life is but a sham. 

I come now to an important event of my life, 
when father moved from Lockland, Ohio, to near 
Covington, Indiana. I was not yet seven years 
old, but walked all the way behind the wagon 
and began building "castles in the air," which is 
the Arst (but by no means the last) that I re- 



THE OLD OREGON TttAlb 23? 

member. We were going out to Indiana to be 
farmers, and it was here, near the banks of the 
Wabash, that I learned the art of driving four 
yoke of oxen to a breaking plow, without 
swearing. 

This reminds me of an after-experience, the 
summer I was nineteen. Uncle John Kin worthy, 
good old soul he was, an ardent Quaker who 
lived a mile or so out from Bridgeport, Indiana, 
asked me one day while I was passing his place 
with three yoke of oxen to haul a heavy cider 
press beam in place. This led the oxen through 
the front dooryard and in full sight and hearing 
of three buxom Quaker girls who either stood in 
the door, or poked their heads out of the windows, 
in company with their good mother. Go through 
that front yard past those girls the cattle would 
not, and kept doubling back, first on one side and 
then on the other. Uncle Johnny, noticing I did 
not swear at the cattle, and attributing the ab- 
sence of oaths to the presence of the ladies, or 
maybe, like a good many others, he thought oxen 
could not be driven without swearing at them, 
sought an opportunity, when the mistress of the 
house could not hear him, and said in a low tone, 
"If thee can do any better, thee had better let 



238 



THE OX TEAM OR 



out the word." Poor, good old soul, he doubtless 
justified himself in his own mind that it was no 
more sin to swear all the time than part of the 
time; and why is it? I leave the answer to that 
person, if he can be found, that never swears. 

Yes, I say again, give me the humble home for 
a child, that is a home in fact, rather than the 
grandest palace where home life is but a sham. 
And right here is where this generation has a 
grave problem to solve, if it 's not the gravest of 
the age, the severance of child life from the real 
home and the real home influences, by the factory 
child labor, the boarding schools; the rush for 
city life, and so many others of like influences 
at work, that one can only take time to mention 
examples. 

And now the reader will ask, What do you 
mean by the home life, and to answer that I will 
relate some features of my early home life, 
though by no means would say that I would 
want to return to all the ways of "ye olden 
times." 

My mother always expected each child to have 
a duty to perform, as well as to play. Light 
labor, to be sure, but labor ; something of service. 
Our diet was so simple, the mere relation may 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 239 

create a smile with the casual reader. The mush 
pot was a great factor in our home life; a great 
heavy iron pot that hung on the crane in the 
chimney corner where the mush would slowly 
bubble and splutter over or near a bed of oak 
coals for half the afternoon. And such mush, 
always made from yellow corn meal and cooked 
three hours or more. This, eaten with plenty of 
fresh, rich milk, comprised the supper for the 
children. Tea? Not to be thought of. Sugar? 
It was too expensive — cost fifteen to eighteen 
cents a pound, and at a time it took a week's 
labor to earn as much as a day's labor now. 
Cheap molasses, sometimes, but not often. Meat, 
not more than once a day, but eggs in abundance. 
Everything father had to sell was low-priced, 
while everything mother must buy at the store 
was high. Only to think of it, you who complain 
of the hard lot of the workers of this generation : 
wheat twenty-five cents a bushel, corn fifteen 
cents, pork tw r o and two and a half cents a pound, 
with bacon sometimes used as fuel by the reck- 
less, racing steamboat captains of the Missis- 
sippi. But when we got onto the farm with 
abundance of fruit and vegetables, with plenty 
of pumpkin pies and apple dumplings, our cup of 
16 



240 THE OX TEAM OB 

joy was full, and we were the happiest mortals 
on earth. As I have said, 4:00 o'clock scarcely 
ever found my mother in bed, and until within 
very recent years I can say that 5 :00 o'clock al- 
most invariably finds me up. Habit, do you say? 
No, not that wholly, though that may have some- 
thing to do with it, but I get up early because I 
want to, and because I have something to do. 

When I was born, thirty miles of railroad com- 
prised the whole mileage of the United States, 
and this only a tramway. Now, how many hun- 
dred thousand miles I know not, but many miles 
over the two hundred thousand mark. When I 
crossed the great states of Illinois and Iowa on 
my way to Oregon in 1852 not a mile of railroad 
had been built in either state. Only four years 
before the first line was built to Indiana, really a 
tramway, from Madison, on the Ohio river to In- 
dianapolis. What a furor the building of that 
railroad created! Earnest, honest men opposed 
the building just as sincerely as men now advo- 
cate the public ownership ; both propositions are 
fallacious, the one long since exploded, the other 
in due time as sure to die out as the first. My 
father was a strong advocate of the railroads, 
but I caught the arguments on the other side ad- 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 241 

vocated with such vehemence as to have the 
sound of anger. What will our farmers do with 
their hay if all the teams that are hauling freight 
to the Ohio river are thrown out of employment? 
What will the tavern keepers do? What will 
become of the wagoners? A hundred such quer- 
ies would be asked by the opponents of the rail- 
road and, to themselves, triumphantly answered 
that the country would be ruined if railroads 
were built. Nevertheless, Indianapolis has 
grown from ten thousand to much over a hun- 
dred thousand, notwithstanding the city enjoyed 
the unusual distinction of being the first ter- 
minal city in the state of Indiana. I remember 
it was the boast of the railroad magnates of that 
day that they would soon increase the speed of 
their trains to fourteen miles an hour, — this 
when they were running twelve. 

la the year 1844 a letter came from Grand- 
father Baker to my mother that he would give 
her a thousand dollars with which to buy a farm. 
The burning question with my father and mother 
was how to get that money out from Ohio to In- 
diana. They actually went in a covered wagon 
to Ohio for it and hauled it home, all silver dol- 
lars, in a box, — this at a time when there had 



242 THE OX TEAM OR 

been but a few million silver dollars coined in 
all of the United States. It was this money that 
bought the farm five miles southwest from In- 
dianapolis, where I received my first real farm 
training. Father had advanced ideas about 
farming, though a miller by trade, and early 
taught me some valuable lessons I never forgot. 
We (I say "we" advisedly, as father continued to 
work in the mill and left me in charge of the 
farm) soon brought up the run-down farm to 
produce twenty-three bushels of wheat per acre 
instead of ten, by the rotation of corn, and clover 
and then wheat. But there was no money in 
farming at the then prevailing prices, and the 
land, which father paid ten dollars an acre for 
would not yield a rental equal to the interest on 
the money. Now that same land is probably 
worth five hundred dollars an acre. 

For a time I worked in the Journal printing 
office for S. V. B. Noel, who, I think, was the 
publisher of the Journal, and also printed a free- 
soil paper. A part of my duty was to deliver 
those papers to subscribers who always treated 
me civilly, but when I was caught on the streets 
of Indianapolis with the papers in my hand I 
was sure of abuse from some one, and a number 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 243 

of times narrowly escaped personal violence. In 
the office I worked as roller boy, but known as 
"the devil/' a term that annoyed me not a little. 
The pressman was a man by the name of Wood. 
In the same room was a power press, the power 
being a stalwart negro who turned a crank. We 
used to race with the power press, and could 
print just half as many sheets on the hand press 
as they could on the vaunted power press, when 
I would fly the sheets, that is, take them off when 
printed with one hand and roll the type with the 
other. This so pleased Noel that he advanced 
my wages to $1.50 a week. 

The present generation can have no conception 
of the brutal virulence of the advocates of slavery 
against the "nigger" and "nigger lovers," as all 
were known who did not join in the crusade 
against the negroes. One day we heard a com- 
motion on the streets, and upon inquiry were 
told that "they had just killed a nigger up the 
street, that's all," and went back to work 
shocked, but could do nothing. But when a little 
later word came that it was Wood's brother that 
had led the mob and that it was "old Jimmy 
Blake's man" (who was known as a sober, in- 
offensive colored man) consternation seized 



244 



THE OX TEAM OR 



Wood as with an iron grip. His grief was in- 
consolable. The negro had been set upon by ttie 
mob just because he was a negro and for no other 
reason and brutally murdered. That murder, 
coupled with the abuse I had received at the 
hands of this same element, set me to thinking, 
and I then and there embraced the anti-slavery 
doctrines and ever after adhered to them till the 
question was settled. 

One of the subscribers to whom I delivered 
that anti-slavery paper was Henry Ward Bee- 
cher, who had then not attained the fame that 
came to him later in life, but to whom I became 
attached by his kind treatment and kind words 
he always found time to utter. He was then, I 
think, pastor of the Congregational church that 
faced on the "Governor's circle." The church 
doubtless has long since been torn down. 

One episode of my life I remember because I 
thought my parents were in the wrong. Vocal 
music was taught in singing schools almost, I 
might say, as regular as day schools. I was pas- 
sionately fond of music, and before the change 
came had a splendid alto voice, and became a 
leader in my part of the class. This coming to 
the notice of the trustees of Beecher's church, 



THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 245 

an effort was made to have me join the choir. 
Mother first objected because my clothes were 
not good enough, whereupon an offer was made 
to suitably clothe me and pay something besides; 
but father objected because he did not want me 
to listen to preaching other than the sect (Camp- 
bellite) to which he belonged. The incident set 
me to thinking, and finally drove me, young as 
I was, into the liberal faith, though I dare not 
openly espouse it. In those days many ministers 
openly preached of endless punishment in a lake 
of fire, but I never could believe the doctrine, and 
yet their words would carry terror into my heart. 
The ways of the world are better now in this, as 
in many other respects. 

One episode of my life while working in the 
printing office I have remembered vividly ail 
these years. During the campaign of 1844 the 
whigs held a second gathering on the Tippecanoe 
battle-ground. It could hardly be called a con- 
vention. A better name for the gathering would 
be a political camp-meeting. The people came 
in wagons, on horseback, afoot, — any way to get 
there — and camped just like people used to do 
in their religious camp-meetings. The journey- 
men printers of the Journal office planned to go 



246 THE OX TEAM OE 

in a covered dead axle wagon, and signified they 
would make a place for the "devil," if his parents 
would let him go along. This was speedily ar- 
ranged with mother, who always took charge of 
such matters. The proposition coming to Noel's 
ears he said for the men to print me some cam- 
paign songs, which they did with a will, Wood 
running them off the press after night while I 
rolled the type for him. My ! Was n't I the proud- 
est boy that ever walked the earth? Visions of 
a pocket full of money haunted me almost day 
and night until we arrived on the battlefield. 
But lo and behold, nobody would pay any at- 
tention to me. Bands of music were playing 
here and there; glee clubs would sing and march 
first on one side the ground and then the other; 
processions were marching and the crowds surg- 
ing, making it necessary for one to look out and 
not get run over. Coupled with this, the rain 
would pour down in torrents, but the marching 
and countermarching went on all the same and 
continued for a week. An elderly journeyman 
printer named May, who in a way stood sponsor 
for our party, told me if I would get up on the 
fence and sing my songs the people would buy 
them, and sure enough the crowds came and I 






THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 247 

sold every copy I had, and went home with 
eleven dollars in my pocket, the richest boy on 
earth. 

It was about this time the start was made of 
printing the Indianapolis News, a paper that 
has thriven all these after years. These same 
rollicking printers that comprised the party to 
the battle-ground put their heads together to 
have some fun, and began printing out of hours 
a small 9 x 11 sheet filled with short paragraphs 
of sharp sayings of men and things about town, 
some more expressive than elegant, and in fact 
some not fit for polite ears; but the pith of the 
matter was they treated only of things that were 
true and of men moving in the highest circles. I 
can not recall the given names of any of these 
men. May, the elderly man before referred to, a 
man named Pinly, and another, Elder, were the 
leading spirits in the enterprise. Wood did the 
presswork and my share was to ink the type, and 
in part stealthily distribute the papers, for it was 
a great secret where they came from at the start 
— all this "just for the fun of the thing," but the 
sheet caused so much comment and became 
sought after so much that the mask was thrown 
off and the little paper launched as a "semi-occa- 



248 THE OX 1'EAM OK 

sional" publication and "sold by carrier only," 
all this by after hours, when the regular day's 
work was finished. I picked up quite a good 
many fip-i-na-bits (a coin representing the value 
of 6^4 cents) myself from the sale of these. . 
After awhile the paper was published regu- 
larly, a rate established, and the little paper 
took its place among the regular publica- 
tions of the day. This writing is altogether from 
memory of occurrences sixty-two years ago, and 
may be faulty in detail, but the main facts are 
true, which probably will be borne out by the 
files of the great newspaper that has grown from 
the seed sown by those restless journeymen 
printers. 

This writing has already run far beycnd the 
space allotted for it, and must necessarily be sus- 
pended until a more opportune time. 

Horace Greeley, writing of the resumption of 
specie payment, said the way to resume was to 
resume, and applying that rule, the way to sus- 
pend this writing is to suspend. So ends this 
chapter, and so ends the book* 






THE OLD OREGON TRAIL 

This famous Trail, shown on the map, the natural 
gateway to the Pacific, may be said to date back to the 
discovery of the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains 
in 1822 by Etienne Provost, although sections of it 
had been traversed by hardy adventurers in the early 
part of the seventeenth century. 

After the buffaloes came the Indians, followed in 
turn by trappers and traders, and these by the in- 
trepid missionaries who pointed the way for that 
mightiest migration of the world's history, the home 
builders, of the Pacific Northwest, to the Oregon coun- 
try. History does not record so great a movement for 
so great a distance as this, over a 2,000 miles stretch 
of an unknown country from the Missouri River to 
the Pacific coast. The Mormons in 1846 and the gold 
seekers of California in '49 followed the Oregon Trail 
for more than a thousand miles to the big bend of the 
Bear river and contended for possession of the single 
trail then existing, with the still passing throng to 
Oregon, until in later years parallel tracks were worn 
deep for long distances as the multitudes jostled each 
other on their weary westward journey. 

The Oregon Trail is without its parallel of pictur- 
esque sceneries, its tragedies and legends of heroism, 
that some day will lend a theme for an imperishable 
epic to go down into history for all ages, as has 
already been the physical marks along the way to 
point the spots where the multitudes passed and 
suffered and died. 



[From the New York Evening Post, Saturday, May 18th, 1907 

Last Blazes on the Oregon Trail 

» 

Aged Pioneer Retraced his March of Fifty-Four Years Before — Ezra Meeker's 
Journey from Puyallup to his Indiana Home — Many Monuments 
Erected Along the Way — Famous Travelers who Trod the Rough 
Road's 2,000 Miles — Both the Oregon and Santa Fe Trails Now Per- 
manently Marked. 

Originally blazed, for a portion of the way, by De la Verendrye, in 1742; trodden a 
distance by Lewis and Clark as they pushed across the vast trans-Mississippi empire; worn by 
the trappers and adventurers of the first quarter of the nineteenth century, such men as Ezekiel 
Williams, Gen. Ashley, "Jim" Bridger, Campbell, Fitzpatrick, Sublette, and Wilson Price Hunt, 
and made into a hard and smooth highway by the hardy Missourians rushing across the continent 
in search of gold, by the Mormons seeking a new land of liberty, and by countless soldiers of 
fortune, the famour Oregon trail has at last been rescued from oblivion and marked with stone 
monuments, thanks largely to the work of one man, Ezra Meeker. 

Starting from his home in Puyallup, Wash., on January 29, 1906, Mr. Meeker retraced 
his march of fifty-four years before, back along the Oregon trail to its Eastern terminus, on the 
Missouri River, then across Iowa and Illinois to his Indiana home. As he journeyed, Mr. 
Meeker interested the people along the route in the importance of saving the Oregon trail from 
oblivion. Their fathers and grandfathers had helped to make it, but the past was in a fair way 
to be forgotten. The line of a great transcontinental railroad parallels or covers the old 
Oregon trail for much of its way to-day, but there were detours and stages to be marked 
before they were lost sight of entirely. 

So this old trail, which was one of the great roadways of the nation a century and a 
half-century ago, has become known better than ever to the present generation. Between 
Puyallup and Omaha nineteen monuments have been erected. Ezra Meeker, after a year's 
travel, reached his Indiana home. His journey and his work ended. Not so the interest in 
the old trail, especially as it follows the marking of another old trail, the Santa Fe, through 
Kansas. 

Before tracing the Oregon trail across the country from the Missouri River to the Pacific 
Ocean and counting over those who wore it smooth, it might be well to summarize briefly 
Mr. Meeker's work in marking it. 

INTERESTING THE PEOPLE. 

After he left his Washington home, more than 2,500 people contributed to the erection 
of Oregon trail monuments. At intervals along the route, Mr. Meeker, with the aid of people 
for whom he and others blazed the way, erected monuments — a huge stone boulder here, a 
cairn of stones there, a signboard < or post in another place. In Baker City, Oregon, the 
monument was erected by contributions received from 800 school-children, all of whom were 
present when it was dedicated. At Boise, Idaho, Mr. Meeker camped for several days beside 
the post office. He spoke to the public school-children of his object, and 1.200 contributed to 
purchase the granite monument, which will mark the place where the old-timers passed through 
what is now a thriving city. The governor of the State and other State officers insisted that 
the monument be erected on the State House yard, and it was dedicated in the presence of 
more than 3,000 people. 

_ To erect a monument at the summit of South Pass, Mr. Meeker travelled eighty-four miles 
from a post office, and twenty-four persons who reside in the neighborhood were the only 
witnesses of the event. The monument stands on the irrigation survey near Sweetwater, and 
is 7,450 feet above sea level, one of the highest of such landmarks in the country. 

In many of the towns and places where monuments were erected, Mr. Meeker stayed to 
see the work done, but in many other instances he turned the matter over to a local committee 
appointed for that purpose. 

BEGAN ON THE MISSOURI. 

The Oregon trail began, as did the Santa Fe trail, leading to the Southwest, at the town 
of Independence, on. the Missouri River. Practically, St. Louis was the eastern terminus, 
men and goods going up the Missouri River to Independence, and there taking wagon and 
setting out either for the Northwest or the Southwest. 

The two trails were the same for forty-one miles, when, as the historian Chittenden 
remarks, a simple signboard was seen which carried the words, "Road to Oregon." That 
signboard to-day, with its lack of ostentation and its epigrammatic clearness, would be worth 
more than its proverbial weight in gold to any State historical society. 

There were branch trails that came into the road from Leavenworth and St. Joseph, 
striking it above the point of departure from the Santa Fe trail; but the Oregon trail proper 
swung off from this fork, running steadily to the northwest, part of the time along the Little 
Blue River, until at length it struck the valley of the Platte, so essential to its welfare, 
lhe distance from Independence to the Platte was 316 miles, the trail reaching the Platte 



about twenty miles below the head of Grand Island. The course thence lay up the Platte 
valley to the two fords, about at the Forks of the Platte, 433 or 493 miles. 

Here at the Forks was a point of departure in the old days. If one chose to follow the 
South Forks of the Platte he might bring up in the Bayou Salade, within reach of the Spanish 
settlements and the head of the Arkansas, or he might take the other arm and come out on the 
edge of the Continental Divide, much higher to the north. 

The Oregon trail followed the South Fork for a time, then swung over to the North Fork, 
at Ash Creek, 513 miles from Independence. It was 667 miles to Fort Laramie, which was 
the last post on the eastern side of the Rockies. Thence the trail struggled on up the Platte, 
keeping close as it might to the stream, till it reached the ford of the Platte, well up toward 
the mountains, and 794 miles out from Independence, nearly the same distance from that 
point as was Santa Fe on the lower trail. 

INDEPENDENCE ROCK. 

A little farther on the trail forsook the Platte, 807 miles out from Missouri, and swung 
across to the valley of the Sweetwater. The famous Independence Rock, 838 miles from 
Independence, was one of the most noteworthy features along the trail. It marked the entrance 
into the Sweetwater district and was a sort of register, holding the rudely carved names of 
many of the hardy Western adventurers. By the Sweetwater the Oregon trailers were taken 
below the foot of the Bighorns, past the Devil's Gate, and up to that remarkable crossing of 
the Rockies, known as South Pass, where Ezra Meeker dedicated his monument under such 
unusual circumstances, taking water from the irrigation ditches on the east side of the Con- 
tinental Divide to irrigate the west side. This is 947 miles from the Missouri River. 

Starting now down the Pacific side of the Great Divide, the traveller passed over 125 
miles of somewhat forbidding country, crossing the Green River before he came to Fort 
Bridger, the first resting point west of the Rockies, 1,070 miles from the Missouri. This was 
* a delightful spot in every way, and always welcomed by the Oregon trailers. 

The Bear River was 1,136 miles from Independence, and to the Soda Springs, on the 
big bend of the Bear, was 1,206 miles. Thence one crossed over the height of land between 
the Bear and Port Neuf Rivers, the latter being Columbia water; and, at a distance of 1,288 
miles from Independence, reached the very important point of Fort Hall, the post established 
by Nathaniel VVyeth. This was the first point at which the trail struck the Snake River, that 
great lower arm of the Columbia, which came dropping from its source opposite the headwaters 
of the Missouri to point out the way to travellers. 

At the Raft River was another point of great interest; for here turned aside the arm of 
the transcontinental trail that led to California. This fork of the road was 1,334 miles from 
the Missouri. Working as best it might from the Raft River, down the Great Snake valley, 
touching and crossing and paralleling several different streams, the Oregon trail proper ran 
until it reached the Grande Ronde valley, at the eastern edge of the difficult Blue Mountains, 
1,736 miles from the starting point. The railway to-day crosses the Blues exactly where the 
old trail did. 

Then the route struck the Umatilla, and shortly thereafter the Columbia River. It was 
1,934 miles to the Dalles, 1,977 to the Cascades, 2,020 miles to Fort Vancouver, and 2,134 to 
the mouth of the Columbia, though the trail proper terminated at Fort Vancouver. 

Such was the Oregon trail, traversed by hundreds and thousands of hardy adventurers, 
outlet of the Missouri rendezvousing station, a mighty highway across which surged the advance 
tide of a nation's traffic. 

BLAZERS OB THE TRAIL. 

Who blazed and followed this historic highway, destined to be marked to posterity fifty 
years after its zenith ? The Frenchman De la Verendrye was perhaps the first to tread a 
portion of the later Oregon trail; since it is known that he forsook the Missouri River and 
started overland, possibly up the Platte, crossing some of the country which the Astorians 
saw later. This was in 1742. The trapper Ezekiel Williams, said to have been the first white 
man to cross the borders of what is now Wyoming, followed in the wake of Lewis and Clarke, 
in 1807, and blazed a part of the way. Andrew Henry, whose name was given to a beautiful 
lake of the Rockies; Etienne Provost, the probable discoverer of historic South Pass; Campbell, 
i- itzpatrick, Sublette, Jim Bridger, Gen. Ashley, Bonneville, and Walker; these are but a few 
of the leaders who blazed and trod the Oregon trail, making it a well-defined highway before 
Fremont set out as a "pathfinder." 

Then came Wilson Price Hunt, with his overland Astorians, seeking a way from the 
mid-Missouri to the Columbia River. Later, Robert Stuart and the returning Astorians were 
to mark out, east of the Continental Divide, the route of the trail for much of its length. 
Then came scores of trappers and traders; then Bonneville and his wagons, to deepen the 
trail, in 1832; and two years later, in 1834, Campbell and Sublette built old Fort Laramie 
on Laramie Creek, a branch of the Platte. Eight years later, Fort Bridger was built by 
Jim Bridger, on a branch of the Green River. 

In 1836 two women moved out into the West along the Oregon trail. They were the wives 
of Whitman and Spalding, missionaries bound for Oregon. Father de Smet, a missionary also, 
ollowed in 1840; then more missionaries from New England, and two years later Fremont, 
:is far, at least, as the South Pass. 

So the Oregon trail was blazed and tramped; traders, trappers, goldseekers, missionaries, 
colonists until the highway stretched from the Missouri River to the Pacific Ocean. Years 
passed and railroads supplanted the old Oregon trail; its very whereabouts was forgotten; 
iisputes arose. Then an old man, almost eighty, with his grandchild, clambered into a prairie 
schooner, made in part of the one in which he had journeyed westward in 1852, and the Oregon 
rail w T as retraced and marked with monuments, that a people and a nation may not forget. 

F. G. M. 



IFOURTH EDITION | 



The Ox Team 

j. -- or the -- Y 

The Old Oregon Trail 

An account of the author's trip across the plains, 

d from the Missouri River to Puget Sound, at the 

tl age of twenty-two, with an ox and cow team in 

v 1852, and of his return with an ox team in the 

• n year 1906, at the age of seventy-six, with copi- 

f( ous excerpts from his journal and other reliable 

11 sources of information; a narrative of events and 

h descriptive of present and past conditions 



By 

Ezra Meeker 



P Author of Pioneer Reminiscences of Puget Sound,- 

tr The Tragedy of Leschi, — Hop Culture in the 

j£ United States, — Washington Territory West 

of the Cascade Mountains, — Familiar 
O Talks,— A Three Years Serial. 



Published by the Author 
Cloth 60 cents, postpaid 



OJ 

fc 

Cc 

m 

t? Address EZRA MEEKER, Room 1214 

pi 35 Nassau St., New York City 

w 

tl ■ ' " -■ 

in 

fr 
w 
is 



Historical Post Card Views; 



Series A. — 16 Views of the Old Oregon Trail Monument Expedition frorc 
S€ Puget Sound to the Missouri River taken on the way. Postpaic 

ai 20 cents. / \ 

Series B. — 16 Colored Views of Noted Indians, etc. of the Northwest. .Post- 
oi . paid 25 cents. 

se Series C. — 16 Fancy Colored Views Illustrating Trip, with Map of the Olc 

Oregon Trail. Postpaid 30 cents. 



Address EZRA MEEKER 



st Room No. 1214, 35 Nassau Street, New York 

s\ 

B 

T 



LfaAg'20 



